


A Heart of Ice and Stone

by WiltedBlueberryMuffin



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Action, Action/Adventure, Adventure, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Death, Dwarves, Elves, Erebor, F/M, Greenwood, Hobbits, Hopeful Ending, Magic-Users, Mirkwood, Original Character(s), Romance, Some Humor, Wizards
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-29
Updated: 2017-06-21
Packaged: 2018-07-27 12:37:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 18
Words: 45,419
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7618387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WiltedBlueberryMuffin/pseuds/WiltedBlueberryMuffin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"A winter such as this, is one like I have never seen. Father - I believe you've been keeping things from me." </p>
<p>The king of the woodland elves has but one job. To protect his people.<br/>What happens, when a mysterious frost comes and covers the forest? Then, leaves as quickly as it came? </p>
<p>There are forces even the most powerful of rulers cannot understand. There are things, that go well beyond even the knowledge of the seasoned mind of the Mirkwood King.  </p>
<p>The question is, are these things to be feared, or can they be used instead?  </p>
<p>As much disdain as it may bring to him, Thranduil's answers lay within a fatally wounded young woman. </p>
<p>One who, cannot even recall her name.</p>
<p>(I originally posted this on Wattpad..it is still a work in progress..I hope you all like it ^^)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

_Frost_.

A deadly cold covered the land; everything it touched was freezing almost solid. It was an unexpected winter that had snuck in like a thief in the night. Such a strange thing had not occurred in a very long time. The only memory he had of a winter like this, came from a long time ago. Long before he was King of the Greenwood.

He was but a child, still young to the ways of the world; the chill he felt now brought back the memories of the bone-rattling cold he had felt then. With such an event, his people had to retreat into their cavernous homes for a very different reason than they had of late. Whether this winter was a more deadly threat than the orcs and spiders they had become accustomed to fending off, remained to be seen.

If one were to think about it, there was but one benefit to the coming cold. The numbers of attacks to their home had dwindled almost down to none at all. This would make way for yet another anomaly of sorts. It had been a very long time, not nearly so long as it had since seeing a winter take over the wood; the king had not left to wander on his own in almost two thousand years, at the least.

After much contemplation, Thranduil decided it was safe enough to leave for a short time. Readying the great elk, Noroth, he set out to observe the winter for himself. Perhaps, to even discover its source.

****

Far, far toward the very edge of the Northern border, there laid a very fragile being. The one who was responsible for the growing frost and snow that was covering the land. Long wisps of hair, a color darker than even that of the darkest night sky, spread out on the ground in a pool around her body, strands blowing to and fro around her face. Eyes the color of clear, clouding crystals scanned the area. It was beautiful, all of it. She had not been doing it on purpose, though there it was. It would have brought a smile to her face, if it weren't for the searing pain of arrows stuck in her body. Each time she'd been struck, more and more snow began to spread. Frost filled the air, the temperature dropping several degrees with each new pain that wracked her body.

Her once beautiful dress was now shredded, barely enough to shield her from the inevitable freeze that would bite her skin.

Each breath she took in felt like a sword being shoved into her chest, then slowly being drawn back out. She could not move. For if she tried, her vision would cloud further, subsiding into the darkness that was ebbing at the edges of her eyes.

Slowly, the cold was leaving. Warmth broke through the snow covered boughs of the tree she'd collapsed beneath. Silken rays of sunlight filtered through, bringing a soft light to the darkness taking her mind. With her pain, brought the chill of the world. The pain she endured was projected, transferring itself into a storm not under her control.

With her death, would come the death of the cold. The frost would abade, the snow would melt. The wood of the elves would return to its former state. All, would return to normal.

Darkness clung to her vision, washing over in waves broken only by the sunlight which only seemed to make her feel sick. A feeling of nausea rose in the pit of her stomach. Her stomach lurched- only making the arrow in her abdomen move, being covered in more of her blood than before.

Sounds were leaving her, she could hear nothing, all she felt was pain. Searing, slowly driving pain. Her breaths were becoming distanced, harder to make, and more ragged.

****

The source of the sudden winter's arrival was no longer the only concern. It was leaving as suddenly as it had come. The grass beneath Noroth's hooves crunched, but in a way that suggested it was healthier than before the frost came.

This brought a crease to the Elf King's features. With the winter gone for whatever reason, this would mean that his people would again have to fight against the sure to soon be returning darkness. He had yet to find the cause of the event; he was only finding that the cold was abruptly melting.

Just as Thranduil was thinking to return home, something caught his eyes. There was a single spot, where the snow remained. It lingered there longer than in any other spot he'd come across. He tilted his head a bit, taking special care to pay attention to the reactions of his steed. Noroth sniffed the air, shuffling his hooves on the ground. If he could speak, he would have said what was crossing thranduil's mind at that very moment.

_Blood._

Dark streams of crimson streaked down through the melting slush. The source of the streams becoming apparent soon enough. The sight gave even the king pause. It reminded him of his wife, in a way. He almost wondered if such a fate was what had befallen her when she was taken from him.

The crudely made orcish arrows that rutted out of the frail body before him reminded him why he hated the orcs so much; the hollow look in the female's eyes held him static for a moment. This one sight was a painful reminder of why he had hardened his heart to the wounds of others, especially those who were not their own.

Thranduil thought her a lost cause, so tried to turn Noroth away. Prolonged exposure to the woods would put him at risk, would put his people in danger. This was not something he was willing to allow. Her misfortune was her own.

"Come, Noroth. We must leave this place." Thranduil said beneath his breath, his brows knit further, his stony gaze turning away.

The great elf would not move. This behavior was most unusual for him, he was normally very obedient. There was a long hesitancy, before Noroth finally continued - but forward. He leaned forwards, nuzzling her hair. There was the softest of gasps from her, a word barely even uttered.

_"... Help..."_

To any other ears, this would have gone unnoticed. Noroth's ears flicked, he turned to look at his master, and grunted heavily. He was not going to move, until the female's request was met. The elk was tense, as well. There was a look in his eyes that only came when danger was around. Noroth stomped the ground, digging at it.

Without any other option, Thranduil cursed to himself. The last thing he wanted to do was bring in a wounded creature, who may already be dead. Part of him did hesitate, though. There was a feeling of great power about her. If she were to be saved, or even simply preserved, whatever power lay within her could be used to keep his home safe. If she were truly the cause of the coming and going of a brief winter so intense, that kind of power could save his kingdom for millennia to come. Perhaps even during the coming reign of his son.

"Very well, Noroth. We shall bring back the female." Thranduil responded coldly to his elk, sliding down the side. Looking the animal in the eyes, he added "Do not think this means I, nor anyone else, will be able to do anything to save her. And, expect not to be receiving any extra carrots for a while - especially if I am correct and she dies."

Turning to the wounded woman, the King picked her up in one fluid motion, as if she were naught but air to him. In truth, she did not weigh much to begin with. Most of the weight, Thranduil assumed to be due to her being soaked in her own blood. That, or due to the odd, feathery appendages protruding from her back. How she got, or, more importantly; how one so small could support such very large wings, was beyond him.

Placing her upon the elk in a way that would keep her from falling, and that would not worsen her already near-fatal wounds, it was mere seconds after placing her there, that the woodland elf was back atop Noroth and heading back towards his home.

Although thankful none of the orcs whom were encamped so close, nor any of the dreadful spawn of Ungoliant, had yet to rear their ugly heads; Thranduil could not help but to think the very last of their supply of Athelas would surely be used up in the attempt to heal this woman.

****

Their arrival to the gates of his kingdom was swift. A haste to the beast's step that Thranduil had not seen since the last battle he accompanied him in. It was as if Noroth knew the gravity of the situation. The fact that one mere misstep could be what tipped the precarious balance of life and certain death for the fading creature he and his master had encountered.

The gates flew open, the king off of the great elk as swiftly as he had climbed on. "Ready the infirmary. I want every healer that can be spared to come to me - I have something that cannot wait to be attended to."

Although the situation was more one that might warrant panic, or at least a severe worry, Thranduil's voice was as smooth as if he were ordering them to go to the garden and prepare for a feast. There was authority in his voice; one that came from years of a long life, as well the royal blood which flowed through his veins.

The elves around the room were quick to nod, and scurry off to do as the king had ordered. The infirmary was prepared as well as could be on such short a notice. The king was on his way to his own chambers, however. He had much contemplation to do, and would soon see an appearance of his son, he was sure.

The only thought he had which kept repeating in his mind, was a resounding question.

_Have I brought a new danger to my people - is she a threat?_


	2. Four Months to Heal

"Such wounds should never have been able to heal," Lithoniel shook her head, golden curls bouncing. The look in her light olive colored eyes said she was telling the truth. "I do not understand it in the least, my Lord. If I had to guess, however; I would attribute it to the heavy amount of Athelas we had to use on her." Lithoniel went silent a moment, watching the eyes of her king for his response.

He paused, only but half a minute. His expression read of nothing, though his gaze was not one Lithoniel could look away from.

"You were able to heal her, then?"

His question was in a tone that suggested he was not simply asking if it had been done, but that he expected it to be done. He rose a dark brow, staring the shorter Half-elf down.

"Yes, my Lord. What you reque-" she stopped, seeing something flicker in his deep, yet icy, blue hues. Lithoniel cleared her throat, stood straighter, and folded her hands in front of her sage colored gown.

"Yes. We have done as you ordered. She is healed - though still working on recovering."

"You say she is healed, and yet still recovering?" Thranduil questioned softly, a voice filled with such a chill it made Lithoniel shiver visibly. "How is it, you can have done as I commanded - and yet, utterly failed me as well?" His expression remained clear, yet there was a growing displeasure growing in his eyes.

"Has not the four months I have already allowed you, to apparently spend dawdling, been enough for you to do your work properly?"

His gaze turned to stone. Lithoniel bit her lower lip, her nails digging into the silver tray which she held. Thranduil had long responded to her in such a manner, treating her harsher than others for the simple fact she was only half elven. This being kept in the forefront of her mind, Lithoniel no longer cried - she steeled herself. She took whatever he could dish out on her, and responded only with the utmost respect for him. A time or two, she could have sworn she saw a spark of admiration in his eyes. Though, she may have been wrong.

"Your majesty, I will say. I do anything but dawdle when trying to heal someone. My movements are swift, my decisions concise. If I tell you a charge of mine is healed and on her way to a full recovery, then she is indeed healed, and indeed on her way to recovering."

Thranduil simply watched the smaller female, a slight look of amusement pulling at his lips as he observed the healer's burst of boldness. It was far better than the tiresome bouts of quivering and groveling he'd become so used to when he became harsh with a lower elf, he could give her at least that.

"Very well." He finally answered her. "Then do tell me, is she awake?"

Lithoniel nodded to the king, her lips tightly pressed. She may have been bold, but that did not stop her from being bothered by such blatant rudeness that was thrust at her.

"I believe she will wake within the hour." Her answer was flat, yet carried her own sense of authority. Perhaps, a tad too much.

Thranduil observed Lithoniel for a moment, deciding. Finally delivering a short, curt nod, he turned away and began towards his throne room. His final say in the matter being called back just before he opened the great oaken doors.

"Send her to me, the moment that she wakes."

"Aye, my Lord."

****

Light feet turning back to the infirmary, there were still many things to be done. As ordered by Thranduil himself, they were to take every care they could, to heal the woman in a proper-yet swift- manner. He was no fool, and Lithoniel was all too aware of that. Their king expected _results_.

Opening the door to the infirmary, Lithoniel went to retrieve whatever she could think of to help in last moment preparation of the woman. She had been trying to coax a name out of her, anything which she could call her, so she would not have to feel like a thing being addressed. Thus far, the female had remained mute to the attempts made to speak with her. There was a fear in her eyes each time she was spoken to. Any time she was touched, she would shirk away. At feeling of the woman's stomach during the healing process, Lithoniel had come across something which she had not yet brought to attention. There was only one other who knew of her discovery.

One of her friends, another healer. A young elf by the name Athewyn, with long ashen blonde hair. He had happened to look upwards when Lithoniel figured it out. From his cyan eyes, there was no hiding it. Though he had urged her strongly to say something, Lithoniel stalled. She was certain the woman would know already, so she saw no reason in bringing it up to her when she was still trying to heal. There was little hope left for it, anyway. With the arrow that had pierced so close to her stomach...

To bring up the idea that the woman may have more than her own life to fear for, was something Lithoniel could not bring herself to do. Regardless of the tugging feeling in the pit of her stomach, she ignored it. An action, she would later come to regret.

With all of her supplies gathered, Lithoniel made her way towards the chambers which she and the other healers had given to their wounded doe, as they had come to call her.

She knew soon she would wake again, and would need to be attended to. The great, dark appendages on the female's back had proved to be a challenge to no end; though in having worked with a few birds in her time as the head healer, Lithoniel had been the one to ensure they would not have to be cut off.

"Good morning, m'lady." Lithoniel's greeting was soft in tone, and flowed almost like honey. Such a tone she had to tailor for her, just as the dress she was going to give her to wear.

"We have quite a lot of work to do.. we want to help you look presentable, after all. The king wants to see you."


	3. Named by the King

_"We have quite a lot of work to do.. we want to help you look presentable, after all. The king wants to see you."_

_The king wants to see you..._

Lithoniel's words echoed in her head. They were registering, but only partly. _The king._ Who was the king? She didn't even know who _she_ was, let alone knowing who the _king_ was. Before she could think of how to respond, Lithoniel was helping her up.

Pulling her up and out of the bed, she helped her to the side. This is where her work would begin. She had to re-check her wounds, to make sure everything was alright. She had to help her up, see how her balance was, and make sure she would be able to walk herself to the throne room alone. Aside, of course, from the accompanying guard. Only one could be assigned to her, as her shy nature would barely allow that.

"Alright, m'lady...your wounds seem to be healed up well, your balance is fair enough. All I have to do now, is help you dress." Lithoniel paused, frowning lightly. She shook her head, deciding against whatever it was she was going to say. It really bothered her, how she didn't have a name to call her. Though there was not much she could really do about it, it was not within her authority  to name a person. Nor could she be certain, whatever name she were to give her would be accepted. So, Lithoniel stuck with formality.

Although Lithoniel could not provide her with a name, it was a bit of fun to her, to get to watch her Lady's eyes brighten at the sight of the dress she'd been given to wear. 

A gorgeous gown made of the softest materials, it was a medium forest in color. It was if it were made just for her, it fit so well. How it looked on her was absolutely breathtaking to Lithoniel. There was space in the back for her wings to come out, the skirt reached her small feet. There were no shoes available that would fit her pixie feet, leaving her barefoot.

Once the dress was on her, Lithoniel sat her down again, and carefully wove her hair together, pinning dark strands together, and holding then together with silver leaves. The rest of her hair curled down, resting on her shoulders.

The final touches to the ensemble were a simple circlet placed on her head, and a silver necklace with a tiny moonstone at the center. Lastly, a thin, dark olive cape was draped around her shoulders.

****

Her steps were unsure. Everything she saw drew her attention astray. It was the first time she'd set foot anywhere on her own in four months. And a day. Everything around her was so ornately wrought. So beautifully crafted. Pillar after pillar caught her eyes. The guard with her, thankfully one who seemed to understand the wonder she displayed at seeing the craftsmanship of the elves for the first time. While he knew the king was not likely to be pleased to be kept waiting, he figured he would let the young lady observe her new surroundings. If her meeting with the Elvenking went well, it was more likely she would be able to see more of their cavernous halls - rather than if it went ill, and she would instead be escorted elsewhere, or to the dungeons. An unfortunate occurrence for those who happened to wander into the Greenwood, it happened much to oft for his taste.

Once they arrived at the great oaken doors, he cleared his throat to gain the lady's attention. Having been informed of her invertedness, he was careful not to be too loud. As for the king, the same could not be promised.

"Hold your head high, m'lady. It will go well with you if you do not hide yourself. "

With that, she was left to enter on her own. Before her, sat the most regal person she had seen since being here. There was only a faint familiarity about him, from where she could not say.

His hair was flaxen, so blonde in color to her eyes it appeared to be a waterfall of silver or the purest white. As to his skin, it was flawless. Not a mark could be seen on his face; high cheekbones, piercing silvery blue eyes, and an indiscernible expression were what adorned his features. Atop his head, sat a crown woven out of wood and various berries. Though simple, it did not seem at all out of place.   
His clothing was nearly as impressive as the rest of him. Long trains of crimson flowed around him, pooling at his feet. He wore a dark colored tunic with bits of gold to it, and appeared to be as she was - barefoot.

Slowly, the king rose from his throne; the throne made of what looked to be many various antlers, or horns or sorts to her eyes. Her breath hitched in her throat as he neared her, stopping only mere inches from her. This, being where he began to circle her, as if observing every bit of her. Picking mentally at her. This caused her to tense, her nails digging into the pale flesh of her forearm.   
Her eyes never left him; his eyes were dually adhesive to her. Scanning her, taking in each detail until at last she could barely stand it. Shades of rose were springing upon her cheeks, and she could not help but to chew at her lower lip. Catching her, his eyes met hers.

"You are nervous." It was a fluid, cool statement. Not a question, but an observation made from watching her closely. She swallowed in response, simply blinking.

"Tell me, what is your name?" His brows creased lightly, eyes searching her for any trace of evil or mal-intent. She did not remember, and so was silent. Taking her silence as her answer, he proceeded his interrogation of her. "Are you powerful? Have you been trained in the ways of a weapon?"

Thranduil gave pause, only to complete a circle around her once more. His eyes now narrowed slightly. Her continued silence was beginning to irritate him.

"..Where are you from? Surely, you can answer that." His tone dropped lowly, turning to almost a hiss. Her response was to cringe. Fear resonated in the depths of her now bright, mix of poison and emerald green eyes. Her expression was tight, though he could almost feel her shaking. She was crumbling beneath his glare, and he was all too aware of it.

"You are allowed into our home, taken care of. Your wounds cleaned, fresh food and clothes supplied to you. For four months, our best healers were spent dry attending to you. You, whom I did not have to bring here. " his presence grew darker, more intimidating. It was if he towered over her, his glare piercing into her soul. "I am responsible for you being able to stand before me in such blatant disrespect. Can you not simply give me a name for my trouble? Or shall I replace you where I found you, and leave you to die as I should have in the beginning?"

Thranduil now stood directly in front of her. So close, she could smell the scent of the woods on him, and he the crispness of winter on her. She could almost feel his breath on her, heavy and infuriated. Her knees felt weak - they could buckle at any time, leaving her even further hapless in her situation than she already was. For a moment, the Elvenking watched her. Dark hair that reminded him of the darkest of starless nights; eyes that quivered in fear, yet seemed to shield a great power. A power so great, so unlike anything he'd encountered, he swore he could smell it on her. Her skin was so fair, it would be impossible to see pressed bare against the snow. Her frame was unusual to his eyes as well. She was thinner than most any female elf or human woman he had encountered. Yet, somehow held curves that would cause envy among either race. As if to complete the trembling mess of a creature before him, there were her wings. Large in size, dark in color, and intriguing in nature.

Everything about this strange, aggravating being seemed to contradict itself. She seemed so small, yet the power he felt radiating from her was profound. Whatever she was, he would soon figure it out.   
It had been too long, since anything but the impending darkness had occupied his mind. A mystery would not hurt too much, if it could distract him faintly for but a moment. The more he could discover, the sooner he would know how he could use her power as his own. Such power could not go unchecked; in his possession, he might be able to not only ensure the safety of his people, but attempt to retrieve a treasure kept from his people for far too many years.   
None of this would be possible, however, if the woman would not cooperate. This being decided, Thranduil was about to suggest a night in the dungeons to clear her mind and free up her tongue, when finally she spoke.

"...I...do not remember my name.." Her voice was like the ringing of small bells, a hint of chill to it like that of winters' morn; only tainted by the faint sound of soreness that came from having had an arrow in her neck, and from being so long unused.   
Crystalline tears glistened in the corners of her eyes. She finally cracked beneath his gaze, her soft lips quaking as she tried to collect herself to answer his other questions.

"I..I am sorry, for my silence.. I have no memory of who or even what I am.. I seek not to arouse your wrath but to tell you all I know at the moment...is nothing.." Her voice drew quieter as she spoke. Tears falling down her cheeks from her fear and shame at not knowing. She barely even remembered how she'd been so injured, let alone trying to recall where she was from or if she knew anything about weaponry. 

Thranduil's eyes remained on her, no emotion in them. He had no reaction to her tears, save for to move her hand from her arm, where she had still been clutching her nails. His gaze never left her eyes, reading them as if searching for any sign her tears weren't real.

"There is truth in your eyes.." Thranduil mused halfway to himself. "Either you are very good at lying, or you truly do not remember.." Taking hold of her chin, he stared at her for a few moments longer. Her nerves began to work against her further - the worry in her eyes was all too evident. Releasing her chin, he stepped away, his hands behind his back. 

 _"Faeariel."_  

What he said was soft, though not out of reach of her ears. A look of confusion crossed her delicate features. She had heard many elvish words since being here. Most, in relation to healing, or names of elves whom were helping her. Who she still could not keep straight. The only one she knew well enough at this point to remember her name, was Lithoniel. 

Turning to face her once more, the Elvenking looked down on her once more. "You cannot remember your own name, so hence forth this is what you shall be called. I do hope you will bring honor to it.." the last bit, was said softer. She could tell a bit of a change in his emotion, even if it was only the slightest twinge. Looking into his eyes, she searched. There was something about the way he said the name, her new name; how he said it was not simply beautiful, she thought he sounded a bit..sad. 

"It is beautiful.." is all she could answer, her breath hitching in her throat again. She swore she could hear him utter _'Yes, she was..'_ although he stood right before her, and his lips had not moved in the slightest. 

Regaining his authoritative nature, Thranduil straightened. "You will remain here. I will find a way for you to earn your stay, you are dismissed."


	4. Meeting the Prince

Getting used to a new name was not as easy as she'd thought it would be. For some reason, there had been more than one elf who had responded with hesitancy upon hearing her name.

_Faeariel_.

It was an odd, yet beautiful name. What her name meant, she had yet to find out. She hoped it wasn't something horrible, the way the king reacted to her caused her to worry if he'd named her something unkind. His demeanor towards her that day had been such a turbulent mix, she was unsure in all honesty what he thought of her.

In order to try and keep out of everyone else's way, she kept to herself and mostly wandered around outside. It had been a few days since her naming, and her remaining wounds had been healing; her recovery was going wonderfully.

If only her relations with the elves were flowing so smoothly.

In knowing the elves did not get along well with her, Faeariel made her way to the stables every morning. There was a calming feeling she got by being there. Something about it felt so natural to her, as if she were meant to be there. The thought had more than once crossed her mind, that perhaps she had been a stable worker of some kind before coming here. This idea was, of course dismissed by Lithoniel many times. Her insistence was that Faeariel was not anything common; she said she was sure, because of what Faeariel had been wearing when she was brought to her for healing.

Either way, Faeariel felt most at home in the stables. That was all she knew.

Today, she was planning on checking up on the mares again. One of them was pregnant, and seemed ready to give birth any time. Another, she was sure was getting pregnant. She wasn't quite sure, but she thought so due to her behavior. Carrying with her a basket of apples she'd gathered, Faeariel hummed lightly to herself. On top the apples, she had a couple of carrots. These, she brought for the great elk who also inhabited the stables.

"Hello.." she cooed softly to the elk, who snorted and lowered his head. Pawing the ground with his hoof, he snorted again. Gently petting his forehead, she couldn't help but to giggle when he lifted his giant head, and began to sniff at her head, nuzzling her neck. Pulling one of the carrots out, she held it to his mouth, waiting for him to eat it. Placing a soft kiss on the side of his face, she was just getting out the second carrot, when a blonde elf stepped out of the shadows, almost scaring her out of her skin.

"You aim to fatten up my father's elk?" the expression on his face was none too pleased, though he simply stopped to pet one of the horses' muzzles. His question hung in the air, his eyes turning back to her in awaiting her answer. _His father..?_ Did this mean he was the king's son? Only the king would have such a magnificent animal, she was certain. Faeariel had heard his name whispered among the healers, though only now was she meeting the one who belonged to it. _Legolas_.

His gaze was as intense as his father's. There was no doubting the fact that he was indeed the heir to Thranduil's throne. He seemed dressed for comfort on this day, no trace of armor or weapons on him.

"No," Faeariel answered Legolas at last. "I do not wish to fatten the elk..I only sought to treat him. That is all." She attempted to offer Legolas a soft smile, to which she garnered only the slightest of grunts. A soft sigh escaping her own lips, she gave one last gesture of affection towards Noroth before moving on to take care of the other stable residents. An apple for each horse, and two for those with child.

"You do know, we already have elves who take care of such duties?" Legolas asked her, raising a brow. "Your presence here is not needed." he added, petting through one of the horse's manes. The gentleness displayed towards the animal suggested to Faeariel that the horse must be his.

A frown crossed her thin lips. it would seem, she was not needed anywhere here. She had yet to hear from the king on what it was she ought to do to earn her place here, and so had been looking on her own; unbeknownst to her, the king had been keeping a closer eye on her than she thought.

"..I am simply trying to keep out of the way, " Faeariel turned to him, looking at him directly - though she began to feel her nerves again. "..I am not a fighter, I do not know if I am able to heal, nor whether or not I would be any good at cooking, or darning torn clothing. I do not remember anything about myself. As of now, I am of no real use to anyone, and I am aware of that."

"So you choose to instead put a halt to elves' work. To be in the way of those who already have their place here." He came closer to her, backing her against an empty stall gate. His eyes narrowed at her. It was as if she'd done something against him that she was unaware of. "You are correct. You are of no use to anyone. It would have been better for us all, if you had been left where he found you."

This being the second time she'd heard this, she couldn't help the tears that began to form in the corners of her eyes. "I am sorry.. I am so sorry.." Her voice shook. All she could do was apologize, until slipping under his arm and taking off back to her room. The one place she had yet to make any sort of trouble.

As she retreated  towards the palace, she dropped the basket with her remaining apples. The basket broke, scattering apples across the floor of the stable. A free-for-all to any horses who were paying attention.

On her way to the palace, she passed the king without even realizing it. The only thing she did manage to hear on her way from the stables, was a fight regarding a name.

****

Faeariel had locked herself in her room, and had not come out for either the midday meal, nor the end of the day's meal. Despite being told more than once she was ordered to appear in the dining hall.

"The king is displeased, m'lady." Lithoniel called at the door, worriedly. "He wants to see you immediately. Would you please come out?"

No answer came then, nor for hours afterwards.

She lay curled in her blankets, staring at a wall, and listening to the sounds of a coming storm. How she grew to be so sensitive, it was as unknown to her as was the place of her origin. All she knew, was that their words hurt, and deeply.

Faeariel lay alone for a great time, her eyes static. Never moving, rarely blinking. She did not understand why she was so hated by the elves. She was strange, even she knew that. But it seemed as if it were something beyond that. As if her name were poison; and her sheer being equally as condemning. She felt alone, save for when she could hide away in the stables, or when Lithoniel came to check on her. Though she lived there already, Faeariel could not help but to feel as if the chief healer understood how she felt.

No movement came from Faeariel until she heard the clicking of her door's lock. Cautiously, Lithoniel peered in. She slipped in, closing the door behind her. She wore a look of concern on her face, her hands folded in front of her.

"M'lady..."

She paused, looking at her feet.

"I fear there is something you should know.. It should never have been kept from you.."


	5. Nightmares and Namesakes

Hesitantly, Faeariel looked to her healer. She was afraid to ask, and at the moment unsure if she actually wanted to know whatever it was that 'should never have been kept from her.'

"...What..is it?"

Coming over from where she stood at the door, Lithoniel sat on the edge of Faeariel's bed. She sighed slowly, closing her eyes. Gently wiping the tears from Faeariel's eyes, she held her as close as she was allowed to do.

"..A long time ago, King Thranduil had a Queen. She was said to be his pride and joy. I have been told, they were so happy together it was if they had been born to be together. His Queen was wise, and was said to hold an ethereal beauty unlike most of her people. She brought us joy, as well as an heir to the throne. There was not one elf, or half-elf, who did not love her." Lithoniel paused, taking in a sharp breath.

"..Legolas was barely but a child when his mother was taken from us. I was not much older than he at the time, myself. " a few tears fell down her cheeks, before Faeariel sat up a bit and frowned.

"What has this to do with me? I am not the one who caused her death.." She frowned deeper, confused as to why Lithoniel was telling her this story, or why it was something she needed to know.

"..You bare the Queen's name." The way she said it, it was as if Faeariel should have already known it.

"She was taken from us long ago. Taken captive by the orcs, we assume dead, or worse. The grief almost killed the king. The loss of his bride, and the battle with the ever-increasing darkness compounded; our Elvenking was crushed. It is part of why he became so cold, m'lady. For a time, the very mention of her name was illegal.  Punishable by banishment - or if in front of the king - death. " she swallowed, looking to the now sitting up Faeariel. The pieces were beginning to fall together. The reason she was avoided like a plague, why she was looked at as a hazard, was because the people were still wary. Possibly still mourning; Legolas especially.

Suddenly, the fight she'd overheard on her way out of the stable made sense. As did Thranduil's behavior when giving her the name. She blinked, looking towards Lithoniel. She could barely get the words out to ask.

"Why would he name me after his bride? Surely that would only serve as a painful reminder to him.. It seems to be so for Legolas.." She trailed off, trying to make sense of it. "You...you don't think Legolas thinks I am trying to replace his mother..do you?" Her brows knit together, her hand resting absently on her stomach. Lithoniel felt a pang of guilt run through her. She had yet to inform Faeariel of her finding; as time passed, she grew increasingly certain her lady was unaware of her circumstance. Before she could think to tell her, Faeariel had already dozed off, and looked as if she needed the rest.

Lithoniel resigned to leave her be for a time, although it was most likely very illy-advised. She feared what may come of not telling her. Not nearly so much, though, as she feared what may happen if she did.

"...I do not know, m'lady.. I do not know." 

****

Faeariel's dreams came swiftly, albeit being **anything** **but** sweet. There were faces she couldn't place. Voices that terrified her, for reasons she didn't know. What she saw seemed to be from another world, another time. She felt as if she were watching someone else's life, and through a stranger's eyes. The odd thing was, she could feel everything.

Where she was, did not register. She could smell hay, hear the soft neighing of horses who scraped at the bottoms of their stalls. The wind was soft, a comforting air that blended in with the warm rays of the sun. For some reason, none of this brought a feeling of comfort. She instead, felt nothing but a wrenching pain and a need to throw up. Something told her she wasn't safe. She wasn't safe, and she needed out.

Her dream ended with her feeling like she was being suffocated by hay, darkness surrounding her and drowning out any attempt to call for help she'd tried to make. Faeariel woke in a sweat, tears burning her eyes. She didn't know what her dream was about, where it had come from, or why she'd felt so horrible afterwards. She needed out of her skin, out of her dress, out of herself. A kind of panic unlike her usual nerves coursed through her, making any coherent thought hard to make. She spent the rest of the night curled in a ball, tears falling down her cheeks. She was thankful in a way, that Lithoniel wasn't still in her room. She didn't want anyone to hear or see her like this. Especially because she was sure they all thought her weak anyway.

Faeariel eventually dozed off again, only to be locked in her dream this time. The tugging at her, the pain shooting through her body. All the hay almost suffocating her, began again. This time, with a low, rasping voice in her ear.

_What was happening to her..? Who was he? What did he want from her - was it truly her she was dreaming of?_

Questions thundered in her head, the disturbance of her dreams drawing even the attention of the king, who woke soon. Something felt off to him, something he was unsure of. In his prolonged frustration and stress from the day, he ignored the feeling; dismissing it as probably nothing anyway, and turned over to return to his dreamless sleep.


	6. Stillborn Winter

The morning did not bring very much comfort to Faeariel. She could not walk straight after her night, her dreams had prevented her from having straight thoughts, and so made correct walking hard as well. She felt as if she were walking in a haze.

Her usual time in the stable did not calm her as much as it had in days past, the smells in the stable were making her head hurt. Her stomach pinched, and hurt for a reason she could not pinpoint. She had brought only one apple with her today, and had to decide which horse to give it to.

"Hello.." she smiled at the horses softly, rubbing her hand on their muzzles. Grey horses, brown horses. The mares. They were all sweet, beautiful creatures. She received several welcoming whinnies, each horse seeming to be trying to be vying for her attention, so she would give them the apple.

Just as Faeariel went to give an apple to one of the horses, a voice caught her off guard.

"You cannot come when called, yet you see fit to leave your room upon your own accord, not thinking there would be consequences?"

Thranduil's tone was far from warm or welcoming, a coldness glimmered in his eyes. He stood in the doorway, his arms folded across his chest. It was quite clear he was not going to be allowing Faeariel to leave the stable.

Her eyes turned towards him, the apple slipping from her hand and falling to the floor. "I did not think it would be wise, to further upset your son.." she answered softly, her gaze falling for a moment. "He seemed to be very upset at me for some reason..he told me he would rather you had left me to die.." Faeariel's green eyes met the Elvenking's  blue ones. Her breath hitched, and she looked away, holding her forehead.

"My **_son_** is not yet king," Thranduil responded, stepping closer to her. His tone no less cold; his displeasure with her was clearer than the finest of crystals. "What he says to you, or how his mood with you may turn, _does not mean_ you have freedom to disobey an order from me. Do you understand?" He tilted his head only slightly, now towering over her. His gaze almost felt like one that might crush her, should she remain where she stood for much longer.

"Y-your majesty..." She stuttered, her balance waning.

Thranduil took hold of both her arms, looking in her eyes, searching. She went limp in his hands, her breath slow at first, then speeding up. "I...understand.." she breathed it out slowly, her eyes drooping. Thranduil's cold demeanor faded, each detail of her situation quickly registering. She went limp, her eyes were drooping, though her breathing seemed to be quickening. The last thing he took notice of, was the blood.

_She was bleeding. From where?_

****

For what would seem like the millionth time, Thranduil would be taking Faeariel to the healers. He was covered in her blood; by now she'd began to cry. Her body shook. It was as if he could feel her pain shooting through his body each time it did hers. Every time he looked down at her, it was as if he was not seeing her - but his bride of many years ago.  
Many times, his Queen had been with child. Each time, he felt the same urgency; he felt the same great need to do whatever he could, to help ensure that the life of his child and his bride were not lost. Only one heir had ever survived. Too many, his Queen had lost to stillborn births. Too many, had simply miscarried. The sight of this woman now took him back many years; Thranduil felt a panic he had not felt in a great time. For a woman whom he held no feeling for, nonetheless.   
His fingers trailed through her dark hair, trying his best to soothe her. For her to be in such distress would do no good to her, nor to her unborn child. Faeariel whimpered, clutching tightly to him. She was uncertain of him still, but in this moment, he was all she had. "What's wrong with me? What's happening to me..?" Her voice cracked, and she looked to the king with fear. For once, he knew not what to say. Something filled his eyes though, when he came to the realization she was unaware of being with child. Something of such tremendous magnitude, should have been told to her the moment whence it was discovered.

"You are alright," he answered her slowly, his expression portraying the complete opposite answer. "Do not fear. Calm yourself, the healers will help you." It was nothing worth the response a king should give, though it was all he could come up with in this moment. It seemed to calm her somewhat, though her body shook again. In seeking something to take hold of, she accidentally left a few scratches on him; her hand finally settling to grasp at his now heavily blood-stained tunic.

Getting Faeariel to the healers did not stop him from thinking on the matter. No matter how he tried, he could not seem to keep his mind on the fact that he was planning on using the woman for her power. It crossed his mind that perhaps it was a bad decision on his part, to name her after his late bride. Each time one of her agonized screams echoed through the halls, he swore it was his Queen. He would have to grit his teeth and turn away, in remembrance that it was not. And never would be again. He had no Queen now.

****

Lithoniel was coming to regret her choice of not telling her lady she was pregnant. Her reaction to it now was anything but good. Faeariel's breathing was ragged, and there seemed to be some look of fear in her eyes that was hard to tell if was from giving birth without the remembrance that she was even with child, or if she was beginning to recall how it was she got pregnant.   
It took hours for her to finally deliver; hours of blood curdling screams, wailing that could be heard a great distance throughout the halls. The bleeding was hard to stop, and with no Athelas left to give her - there was nothing they could do to staunch the pain. By the time the child was delivered, Faeariel could barely breathe. She still looked delusional, looking around the room in horror. She'd come to remember how she became with child. The same child, which did not cry nor move once, when brought into the world.

"...It is stillborn.." The words escaped Lithoniel's lips lowly, out of the earshot of her lady. Cautious eyes turned towards her, a complete wreck; Faeariel was in no shape for such news. "Help her to sleep.." She murmured this, before turning to another of the healers. "Send word, the child.... has been born."

****

The thoughts of the Elvenking scattered, fraying when he tried to link them back together. His dark brows knit together as he sat on his throne, his eyes closed in contemplation. He still sat covered in the woman's blood. Wondering why he should care if she was with child. Why should he care, if she was in pain? The most prominent thought in his head was wondering why he had given her the name he had.

His thoughts were not interrupted until the doors began to open. A healer came in, her dress almost as soaked in blood as was the king's tunic. Her head was down, as if she was there to deliver grave news.

"My lord, I have been sent to inform you-"

Her sentence was cut off before she could get out whatever news it was that she had come to bring. The great oaken doors slammed open again; in coming the king's heir, covered in what seemed to be snow. His face had even taken to turning red in places. Bowing shortly, he looked up to his father with an urgency in his eyes.

"Father, the winter has returned. Whence it came, I do not know. The scouts and I were out disposing of a group of Orcs we had been informed about. The snow came out of nowhere. Frost is covering the land much more quickly than it did last time. Father, what do you wish us to do?"

Thranduil was swift in his answer to his son, his thoughts of where the winter had come from already at work. It was time now, that he might speak with the woman.

"Close the main gates, secure them so no chill may breach them. Bring all the horses inside; keep everyone towards the middle of our halls. Give them warm clothing to wear, and as many blankets as can be spared."

Legolas nodded, taking off nearly as quickly as he had come. The gaze of the king returned to the healer, his next command almost barked. He had no time for her to dawdle. "Speak!"

Though seeming to be startled, she nodded and swallowed harshly. "I have been sent to inform you of the child's birth." She clasped her fingers together in front of her tightly, the look in her eyes not one of someone bringing news of new life.

"What of it?"

"The child...is stillborn." her voice shook, her eyes widening when her shoulders were taken hold of. His eyes now seemed to burn a hole into her very soul, his voice low and cold.

_"What of the woman?"_ his question was hissed, his eyes angry pools of blue. Oceans turbulent as waters haunted by a hurricane. "Is she alive, or is she not? This is a simple question. **Does. She. Live?** "


	7. Mourning paintings; Afternoon kittens

For weeks now, the only one to sit in her room was Faeariel. The rest of the population hid themselves away, down deep to escape the cold. The frost had reached now even towards the closest boarders. The land was littered in death, corpses of orcs who dared try to venture into the cold; of spiders who could not weave a warm enough thread. There were even losses to the elven people. There would be many more to come, if it did not soon leave again. Food supplies were running low, there was barely enough to go around.

"How did you not think to tell me she was with child?" Thranduil was furious. For days now, nothing but the eventual starvation of his people, and the loss of Faeariel's child, haunted his restless mind. How he had not taken notice of such a detail, he was unsure. His main anger was held with the healer, who had neglected to tell him all she knew.

"Your majesty. With the wounds she sustained from the arrows, I thought she had been through enough. One hit her almost exactly where her baby was! I was certain a detail such as carrying an unborn child would be something she would remember!" Lithoniel frowned, her arms folded close to herself. She knew the time to answer for her actions would soon come; she had yet to prepare for it though. 

"She could not even remember her own name, Lithoniel. She could tell me nothing of where she was from, or anything of herself in fact. How would you expect her to remember that?" His voice rose, cracking from lack of proper hydration. "Furthermore. I wish to know why you saw fit to keep such information from not only me, but her as well." His eyes narrowed, causing the healer to shrink.

"There..there wasn't much chance of the child's survival anyway!" Lithoniel cried, her expression falling. "I knew that, I knew from the day she was brought here. There was no chance her child would live."

Her words seemed to condemn her further. Her knowing so long beforehand, yet saying nothing, infuriated him even further. Slowly, the Elvenking stepped closer to Lithoniel. "Did you happen to find out the name of the father? From the commotion she caused I am sure she recalled something. Tell me, do you know who the father to her child was?"   
The sudden thorough interest in Faeariel caught Lithoniel off guard. She bit her lip. She was drawing a blank; her mind could recall nothing. She looked up to the king, and instead of answering, she made the mistake of asking why he cared to know.

This, of course, ended their discussion. For her neglecting to tell him the truth, and for allowing the information to be kept from the mother as well, her punishment was to be sent to the dungeons. Such actions he could not tolerate, especially in such cold. The only thing he could do, was talk to the one in mourning.

****

In the time since locking herself away, Faeariel had taken up one of her older hobbies. The birth of her child caused a jog in her memory that allowed only certain things to return to her. She had used to love to paint. She was skilled in healing. Her child was created without her consent - and without her desire to forfeit her innocence to the one who took it. Other than these things, there was much more she did not remember. Much, she probably never would be able to recall.

Her name. Her home. She knew she had no family, that was just a feeling she had in her gut. There were things that tugged at her, such as her ability with snow and ice. It was as if Faeariel could feel the storm outside. The less she felt inside herself, the worse it became. Ice came, when she was in pain. When she sobbed, it rained freezing daggers. How she did it, she knew not. It was the same as the random bits of information that came to her - though often leaving as soon as they popped into her mind.

To busy herself and keep her mind from lingering on anything too upsetting for too long, Faeariel had taken to painting something. She started with a tree, giving it a gnarled trunk. Twisted together in impossible ways, but still somehow beautiful. The leaves were a different story. Some were small, while others were big and seemed to be holding up the littler ones. Her strokes were almost magical on their own. Whenever she would breathe on the painting, she could swear she saw it begin to move. Leaves fluttering - as if in the wind. Below the tree, she painted a flowing river. This was what she was working on, when the knock came to her door. It had been a long time since anyone had dared come up to where she was. It had simply been too cold. 

 The sound drew her ears, and her attention towards her doorway. Rising from her seat - which was a chest that had originally sitting at the edge of her bed - Faeariel hesitated, her hand on the knob. She thought about it for a moment, before opening her door to peek out. In her doorway, stood none other than the Elvenking himself. His hair seemed even whiter now, against the cold atmosphere that was seeping into the kingdom. What he wore now was drastically different than the last time she had seen him. The day she'd given birth. Not a day she liked to be reminded of. Her eyes held his for a moment, before she wordlessly stepped aside and let him in.

"You paint." two simple words, softly spoken. Not betraying the true horrible torrent of emotion he was masking. He stepped over towards the painting, and looked it over. A feeling of magic came off of it; a wave of his hand over it brought a soft glow. 

"I do.." she answered softly. Her hands were clutched together in front of her tightly, her nails digging into her skin. Her eyes averted from his, her hollow feeling turning to a sour one. She wondered if he were here to tell her he wished her dead again. The cold, she knew was her fault. How to stop it, she didn't know that. Nor did she know if she cared to. How ironic it was, they had saved her life twice, pulling her back from darkness that threatened to take her. Then here she was; she was threatening their lives, their existence for the second time. It seemed good will would be repaid by her treacherous cold.  Her gaze held on her feet, which just barely peered out from beneath the hem of her black dress. All she had worn since loosing her child was black. Darkness she hid herself in, so no one could see how truly wounded she was. 

"It's a wondrous power you have, you know." his gaze turned from her painting only enough to look at her from over his shoulder. "There are many in Middle Earth who would kill to have such abilities." He paused a moment, seeming to be hugging his middle. It seemed a bit off, as if he were trying to prevent something from falling. 

Faeariel sighed, shaking her head. "It is no gift that I have, King Thranduil." Her voice was soft, slow. It sounded nearly as hollow as she looked to feel. "It is a curse...even I do not fully understand it. I would venture out into it to rid you of me if I thought it would work. I am immune to cold..it has no affect on me.." at this, she frowned and hid her face again. 

"If I wished to be rid of you, Faeariel, I would have executed you myself by now; do you not think?" he rose a dark brow in question, watching her. His expression seemed as flat as ever. This thought had not occurred to her yet, though it should have. It was true. If he had wished her dead - _truly_ \- she would already be dead and buried by now. Before she could think to answer, she heard the slightest sound from his direction. It was one she'd never heard before. Almost as if he were..hiding a laugh. 

Looking to him with a curiosity she could not help, she rose an eyebrow and tilted her head. Whatever it was that he was hiding within his coat, it seemed to be moving. As she came closer to try to figure it out a tiny, fluffy, black and white kitten popped its head out from the opening in his coat. Mewling softly at her, and up at Thranduil. Rubbing its head on his chest, it was soon joined by two other kittens. One striped, the other a mixture of color. 

"..Surprise..?" for a moment, even the _Great King of the Greenwood_ seemed to be caught off guard. The look of surprise on his face was one Faeariel could appreciate. It was softer, not so cold and hard as were his usual expressions. 

"You brought me kittens..?" she asked, looking up at him with a wavering smile. She smiled a bit more, when one of the kittens, whose head she'd been petting with her finger, decided to start licking her. "H-hey..that tickles.." she even almost let a bit of a giggle, light trying to make its way back into her eyes. 

In attempt to re-compose himself, Thranduil nodded, clearing his throat. "They were found in the stables when the horses were being brought in. Their mother was nowhere to be found..so I thought to bring them to you."

The smile on her face was something of a treasure. After being so solemn, it suited her better, he thought. Unlike him, he thought she may yet still have a chance to regain her happiness. _After all, a happy woman was more apt to want to help him, or to reveal her powers to him. That was all he desired from her..was it not?_

"They're beautiful.." Faeariel muttered, gently picking up the cream-colored, striped one. It purred, immediately sniffing all over her hands. She couldn't help but to laugh again, holding it up so she could kiss its nose. After a moment, she looked back up to Thranduil. "Would I be correct in assuming..you came to speak to me on more than my paintings, and to bring me orphaned kittens?" 

Thranduil looked down at her, the other two kittens now climbing his coat. He sighed, before answering her. 

"You would." 


	8. Recollection and Contemplation

The kittens crawled on Faeariel's lap, mewling and swatting at one another's tails. She could not help but to think she saw the same bit of amusement on the King's face as she felt on her own. Letting a soft sigh, she turned her gaze back towards the Elvenking.

"You wish me to stop the winter.. Though I am sorry to tell you, I do not know how.." She frowned now, looking away. "This is kept from me by memory. One thing I wish I could remember instead of what it is that I do remember. " she bit her lower lip, looking down at the playful kittens. So unaware of the world around them. So young, so free. So...innocent.

Unlike her.

Raising a brow, Thranduil turned to her. Now seated at the opposite end of her bed. "What is it..that you do remember?" He asked her slowly, his brows coming together in thought.   
"I remember... How I became pregnant.." She swallowed roughly, staring at her lap. Her dark hair hung in her face. She knew he would ask her next how; Faeariel felt too ashamed to look him in the eyes when delivering her answer.   
Seeing her change in behavior, Thranduil did not ask her, but rather he waited for her to tell him. On her own accord. To yell at her would only cause her further distress, which seemed to be linked to how the winter came. Both times - actually. The first must have come due to the pain she felt. Though, the nearer she came to death, the quicker it abated. If he did not think to use her power, a different solution might be used. Although, even though he had decided her power was the only reason he wanted her, he could not help the feeling he had tugging at him. It had yet to be named what it was he was feeling, though every day passing, killing her seemed completely out of the question. Her powers, however; her powers were still a great curiosity. They no longer seemed to be the only thing keeping her there, though they were a big reason of why she remained in his kingdom.

"...It was..it was a man. In a village, not far from here. " she began softly, her face hidden by her hair. "...I was passing through, and all I wanted was to buy a horse. I did not have enough though, and the man would not sell to me. I was.. I was about to leave..when he called me back.." She swallowed, tears burning her emerald hues. "...He told me, there was a different way he would accept payment." Her voice cracked here. "..I did not know what he meant, so I followed him into the barn. He was much bigger than I, so I could not get him off of me.. I cannot remember much but pain after... And darkness.. I think...he tried to bury me.." Her voice cracked again, growing even softer. Her eyes widened in realization, and she began to panic. "...I..I cannot stay here.. Y-you mustn't look at me.." She shook her head, hiding her face.

To her surprise, she was stilled by strong arms which wrapped around her, pulling her close. At first, she tried to resist. Convinced it was wrong for her to stay, for fear she would bring further trouble or perhaps ruin to his kingdom. She had already frozen it twice now, how could she dare to plague it with her presence? She felt dirty now, and ashamed in more than one way.   
"Please..please your majesty...do..do not touch me.." She begged, though the wracking of her frail body due to tears said she needed to be held. "..I..have frozen your kingdom twice.. I..I cannot protect myself..nor control my powers..I..I cannot even give birth to a living baby.." She hid her face once more, though he said nothing. Simply allowing her to cry all of her tears until she would be able to hear him.

"There is no shame in losing a child.." Thranduil sighed, looking off into space. "Yours, you lost by no fault of your own. The arrows would have stolen its life long before you were to birth it." He paused, before continuing. "As for how you became pregnant, that is not your fault either, Faeariel. " there was an edge in his voice. He could feel a hatred for the man who had hurt her burning in his chest. Such an action would surely cost the man his life, should he ever cross paths with the Elvenking. Trying to quell his anger long enough to speak with her, he closed his eyes and exhaled.

"Very long ago, I had a bride. She was the light of my world, and brought much happiness to our people. Many times, we tried for an heir. Many times, it was not to be. She lost countless heirs before they could even come into the world." He looked down at her for only a moment, brushing a hair from her face. "The last bit of her I have now, is our only surviving child."

"..Legolas?" She looked up at him and asked softly, a few tears still falling from her eyes.

Wiping the tears away, Thranduil nodded.

"He is all that remained here of her. For years after her death, I could not bear to hear her name. There were many elves who were sent to the dungeon - and who did not leave." His voice softened, his gaze now turned towards the wall again.

"What happened to her?" Faeariel whispered this, her eyes daring to dart up at the vulnerable looking king.

"She was taken from me. By orcs. When Legolas was still a child; her body was never found...in one piece." Memory after memory flashed through his mind, pain at the thought of her being brought up so vividly now. "I often imagined she had suffered nearly the same fate as how I found you," he muttered this, his fingers trailing absently in her dark hair. "I suppose it fitting.. You are the only one to truly remind me of her since her death." 

They sat this way, barely speaking every so often. Small bits of things coming together, finally making sense to her. As Thranduil described his Queen, she indeed did look much like her. Perhaps, she thought, this could be why Legolas held such disdain for her. His reasoning for giving her his wife's name, however, did not manage to become clear. Eventual silence took them, as well as the darkness that began to creep into the room. Faeariel did not want to move. For once, she felt at ease.

Just as the darkness had crept into the last corner of the room, Thranduil's blue eyes opened again. He had tarried here long enough, he would need to go. Shifting in his seat, he thought to rise and go to the door. Before he could, there was a light tug on his coat sleeve. She was hesitant, almost afraid, to ask. Thus, the quiet tone of her question.

"...Stay with me?"  

****

Though her question caught him off guard, the king did not refuse. Turning towards her again, he simply nodded and stepped over to her bed. Waiting first for her to situate herself, and to make sure all three kittens were out of the way of being laid upon, he climbed into her bed with her.

Nestled again close to him, she could not help but to feel at ease. His chin rested in the crook between her neck and he shoulder,  his arms resting around her middle. The warmth she felt of him behind her drew a blush across her pale face. She could feel his long hair brushing against her own. Faeariel was not sure if she felt nerves or butterflies - she wasn't expecting him to actually stay.

Sleep took her, long before taking the king.

Everything about her began to remind him of his lost Queen. Her hair was soft, her skin was fair. A great deal fairer than was his Queen's, as well as feeling like ice. This close to her, he swore he could see light sparkles on her skin. Her eyes were a great deal different from his Queen's had been, but that was one of the things that made her so interesting. The other, being her wings. Nothing like them had ever come to pass his knowledge, before now. They were beautiful, soft things. Nearly as dark as her hair, length stretching down to the floor. He wondered, if she had ever tried to fly.

Such a sight, he was sure would be one to behold - even in his eyes.

****

The morning when Faeariel woke, she was alone. The elves seemed to be going back to their way of life; she guessed because the snow had again gone away. Every day further away from the night she last spoke with the king, things seemed to be returning to how they should be. The healers were out collecting more Athelas. Those responsible for the food were out gardening and harvesting, those who crafted weapons were doing just that. The king nor the prince spoke to Faeariel. She was **again** _,_ being ignored.

Unknown to her, Thranduil had been angry with himself. He had been allowing himself to be far too open with her. Spending time with her made it difficult - she made him forget what he was after from the beginning. Something about her, aside from reminding him of his lost Queen, drew him to her. A closeness he could not allow to develop, especially if he were going to be using her in such a way. _Using_. Such a disturbing term. One that would not have bothered him in a time before now. Though now, it seemed like such a repulsive thing. The cold she had brought had been brought by her pain. Something she did not deserve to have more of. Albeit, it had kept away the dangers that had too long threatened his people; his people had to come before anything else, did they not? And yet, he was uncertain it was truly what he desired to do. His decision would have to be made soon, and he knew so. To delay it as long as possible, he did the opposite of what he wished to do. Avoiding her at every time he saw her, or only glancing in small acknowledgement. If she were to believe he hated her, then things would be much easier, he believed. It would be even more so easy - if he were to believe he detested her as well. If he were to dwell continuously on her shortcomings and what annoyed him about her, hatred should form on its own.

Nothing exciting would begin to happen until many, many months later; with the middle of autumn nearing.

There was going to be a great feast held, on the outer grounds.

Something, uncertainly advised. For, he would most certainly see her there - even after months of ignoring her presence. There was no need to tell Legolas to do the same; he did so on his own. It was a difficult thing.

_Perhaps if I were to order the secret of her power from her.. She would remember..?_

_Preposterous.._

_And yet.._


	9. Mid-Autumn Feast

Faeariel had months, to find her own place. To make her own way. How many it was for certain, she did not know. She was altogether uncertain she cared anymore, either.

She helped where she saw it needed. If the healers needed her to help search for their beloved healing plant, she did so wordlessly. Dinner needing suggestions, she would suggest or taste for them until they were pleased with the outcome. Weaponry, she was not good for. The crafting of, anyway. To attempt to help with it, she would retrieve water for the cooling or wood for their fires.

Thus far, she had also helped the dark mare birth her colt; the lighter one, she helped along as it got ready to birth soon. When not spending time in the stables-which, was hard to do in being reminded of the barn which she'd been assaulted in-Faeariel worked with children. She'd healed a few on her own, without use of Athelas. Some of the elves regarded her as some kind of enchantress, asking how she did it. It was far from reach of her memory anymore, so she would simply shake her head.

While not all the elves liked her, there were a great few coming around to her. Her appearance was greatly appreciated by those needing their children taken care of. While she had not been able to have her own, there was something about her that the children loved. A little girl in particular she'd grown fond of. She was smaller and younger than the rest, but held her own easily - having once punched her brother in the nose for making fun of her.

As far as Faeariel was concerned, her life wasn't too bad here now. She constantly busied herself and hardly slept, always looking for something to do. It was a mask to hide her worry the king had come to hate her. Her fear that the prince would never forgive her for baring such a resemblance to his deceased mother. Neither would talk to her. Legolas seemed to have softened-even if only a little-when watching her with the children. A time or two, she was sure she'd caught a laugh or a look of amusement on his face.

Her strategy of working herself until she could no more, seemed to be working. She came to rarely recognize the fact that the king had for some reason began to ignore her again. Though- each time she caught glimpse of him, it hit her again. Why it bothered her so, she had no idea. She still felt butterflies in her stomach. A longing to be held again, if only just to keep her nightmares at bay. Having mostly found ways to deal with her nerves in regard to people, Faeariel couldn't figure out what her problem was.

Today, Faeariel had no children to watch. They all seemed busy in preparation for something. Assisting the elder elves in decorating the grounds, in setting things up. With every attempt of her help declined, she trailed back inside, thinking to draw a bath if she could not work. It was just as she was heading to do so, that she bumped into Legolas again. For once, he did not scowl. Instead, he looked at her almost curiously.

"You have been quite busy of late," he mused, folding his arms.

Looking up at him, Faeariel nodded. "I have."

"I fail to see any tomatoes in your hair."

"Oh," Faeariel couldn't help but to laugh lightly. She'd had no idea he knew of, or took any notice to her mishaps in the kitchens. "I had no idea you knew about that. In my defense, the floor was quite slippery."

"From butter, if I was told right?"

"Ah- yes.. From butter I happened to of tipped over. You were told correctly.."

He laughed then, smiling softly at her. "Do try not to spill any food tonight. We will have enough a show without tomatoes flying everywhere." With that, he nodded to her and continued on his way. His drastic change in demeanor startled her. She saw no hatred in his eyes, could detect no disdain in his voice. It gave her pause, and made her wonder. Had the prince taken more a notice to her of late than she'd thought? Or, could it simply have been that he might've overhead a conversation she had had a few weeks ago, with a young female elf captain she'd met? Who knew. The ways of the elves were still so very foreign to her, even if she'd been there so long. -A time she had forgotten to number; and could not since recall to do so, even if she were to choose to.-

Shrugging off the odd encounter with the prince, Faeariel continued on her way to go and take a bath. She sighed slowly upon getting to her door, slowly turning it so she could step inside. She didn't want to let her kittens run out. Not that they were still small kittens anymore-they had all grown quite a lot.

Laying on her bed, there was a pretty dress made with different colors than what she normally saw the elves wearing. Such dark, beautiful colors, with tiny gems sewn into it. It looked like a night sky to her, and drew an immediate smile to her face. With the dress came a note, written on in golden handwriting so elegant only an elf could have written it. Her eyes scanned it quickly, noting the use of her new name in it. She ran her fingers over her name; she couldn't help the pang of pain she felt though. Her name had come from the king - the very king who had comforted her, then left her alone. Sighing softly, she set the note aside on her bed. Whether she would go, or stay in her room, she was not yet sure.

Turning to begin getting undressed, Faeariel thought to herself. _What would she do_?  All she had done of late was work. Work to keep herself busy, and work to feel helpful. It would be so nice, to do something aside from work..Faeariel calmly crawled into her icy waters and allowed herself to relax. Without Lithoniel there to insist on helping her with everything, Faeariel would be this time bathing on her own. As stated by the note, an elven servant girl would be sent to help her dress. She wasn't sure if she was going to allow it or turn her away, though. Faeariel had never been to an elvish feast. She had no idea what to expect - and was unsure her attending would would be a good idea. Let alone the event to begin with. Was not the king worried of the threat of darkness?

****

With her bathing complete, there came a soft knock at the door. "Excuse me, Lady Faeariel, I have been sent to help you get dressed for the feast tonight.. The king wishes you there." This hit Faeariel's ears oddly. How could he want her there, if he had been the one ignoring her for months? It made no sense to her. She knew she was not allowed to refuse, as that had not gone well before for her; the thought to try did still manage to cross her mind to try it again though.

"Come in.." Faeariel called back softly, carefully wringing out her long hair. It would take long to whip her back into a 'presentable' state, as she had taken to neglecting her appearance and wearing only simple clothing to work in. The new elven girl seemed to know what she was doing though, as she had Faeariel looking as beautiful as an elf maiden in no time. The dress fit her perfectly, hugging her curves and trailing down to the ground. It pooled in a lake around her small feet, a tripping hazard for one so clumsy. The front cut down only enough to show a part of her chest, leaving room for imagination. The off-shoulder sleeves shimmered, and were long; soft materials that matched the pool of fabric at her feet. The back had been a bit adjusted, taking in consideration her wings. This time, she had shoes made to fit her small feet. Tailored specifically and perfectly for her. They slipped on beautifully, and were so comfortable she felt she could wear them forever.

As for her hair, it was pulled up in a way that accented the dress, but left most of it down. Pins and things were put in to hold it into place, shiny things that caught the cats' attention; they tried to get to it to play with them, causing Faeariel and the elven girl, Tarivyn; to both giggle.

The last touches were a necklace sent as a gift for her, and the staining of her lips with dark berries. The necklace was something unique, that had not seen the light of day in more than a century. Delicate diamonds hung and accented by silver, something that sent shivers up the spine of even the one whose skin felt like ice. It hung around her thin neck easily, and matched her dress as well.

The process of staining her pale lips took much longer, and was accompanied by the bringing of color to her face- something she found most painful. "I am sorry if this hurts you, m'lady.." Tarivyn grimaced, trying to make it quick.

In order to "bring more color to her face," Tarivyn had to take hold of and squeeze very harshly on Faeariel's cheeks. It nonetheless caused her to almost cry, which had to be stopped so she would not ruin the staining that had finally set into her lips.

"Ow! Owowowowow- _**OW!**_ "

In short, she was very sure she knew now why there was a saying about beauty and pain. Her face throbbed for hours afterwards. The only good news was, her face did retain a soft rosy color after all that trouble.

Although, it was nothing like the colors that would come to her face during the night's festivities. That, was something worthy of beholding- and much more than a bit _rosy_.

****  
The feast was more than Faeariel could have expected. There were elves everywhere singing, dancing, and eating to their hearts' content.

Faeariel came out when her dressing was finished. Her eyes wondered the grounds, observing everyone. Such behavior was unusual for them. Loose, happy. Simply doing what they wanted, just for the sheer joy of it. It drew a smile to her face.

Before she could think to see about food, she was dragged away by a little girl. She was so excited, Faeariel could barely understand what she was trying to say. Finally, she got out a few words which Faeariel could finally understand. "Dance with me, Fae-Fae!"

'Fae-Fae' being what the younger children called her, she couldn't help but to oblige. Even though it meant she went a long time into the night before she was able to eat, she felt more happiness dancing with the children than she had since she could remember. It strengthened her longing for her own child, though being she had no one to have one with, she resigned herself to caring for the children of others. She was taking a break for a moment, when she felt a brush of air behind her wings.

"..You look beautiful tonight.."

The words were not loudly spoken, though she knew the owner right away. Turning to face him, she took immediate notice of how the light of the setting sun reflected off the blue of his eyes. As for his hair, only a small bit of it was pulled back on each side, in two small golden white braids. He wore a deep green colored tunic over dark brown pants, his feet bare. The lack of a crown or many rings on his fingers struck her as odd, though she found the simpler look a nice one for the king. Her eyes were drawn to the opening at his collar, which exposed only a bit of his collarbone. Heat rushing to her face when she realized she was staring at the wrong spot, her eyes shot up to his.

 "Thank you..my lord.." Her words were a bit stiff, as she was sore at him for ignoring her, and he could sense this. Breaking the silence once more, he took hold of her hand and lightly kissed it; looking up to her, he rose a brow.

"Eat with me."

His request caught her off guard. She could not decide how to answer him, though she was very hungry by now. Teetering on the edge of indecision at her frustration towards the king, and her need to finally let herself rest and eat, Faeariel nodded at last to him her consent. A soft smile almost seemed to cross his face. She guessed it a trick of the evening light, though. Surely he would not smile at someone he had neglected to speak to for months. That would be _absurd_.

"I have something I would like to show you," he commented as he led her to the food, grabbing a few things for the both of them. In her curiosity Faeariel rose a brow at him, wondering what was going on in his head. Elves were strange beings, she decided it. Taking what he gave her, she held it close so as not to drop it. Being pulled across the lawn then to an area where there was a clearing in the trees, she could see a view of the setting sun. A place where the retreating day and coming night melded perfectly together. Hues of peach, lavender, rose, and even a light minty green faded away into the beautiful dark blue-black of night. The sight drew a soft gasp from her, and a smile across her face. It was the most perfect thing she'd ever seen. A bit of regret at not having her painting supplies hit her. Moments like this were a rarity, that she would have loved to capture so she could look at it again and again. 

"It's so..amazing.." Faeariel breathed softly, slow to look over at Thranduil again. He continued to surprise her in many ways. One moment, he was ignoring her. The next, he was showing her a view that could have melted her with its wonder. Despite how upset she'd been with him, she couldn't help but smile. 

The rest of the night was spent sitting on the lawn, enjoying the rich foods of the elven kingdom. At first taste of the wine,  she made a face which seemed to bring amusement to the king - for she knew she'd heard him laugh that time. 

"It's not funny!" she protested, though nearly choking the next time. "I'm..just getting used to it, that's all." She garnered a shake of his head, and a slightly bemused smirk. 

"Oh, but of course." He drank it with no problem, having had it many times before, it was like drinking water to him. 

A few drinks a piece in, he looked over to her, raising a brow. "So, tell me.. what is it like to be able to cause snow and ice to fall? Such a thing is not something even most of Middle Earth's wizards can do, let alone anyone who does not possess some kind of unknown ancient magic.."

Finishing the bite she'd taken of an apple, Faeariel thought. Her demeanor had since laxed down, the drinks she'd had calming any nerves of frustration she'd had with him. "Well, I would say it is not much different for me, than would be sword fighting for you. It comes naturally, as nearly as I can tell. I still have yet to really remember much of how I am to control it, though a few things have come to me," she paused, taking another bite of the juicy red apple in her hand. "I think the more upset I get, or the more pain I am in...it gets out of my control- things happen on their own. Say like when I almost died..or when I lost my baby.." 

Thranduil tapped his chin in thought, nodding to her. "...When your emotions aren't controlled, and when you feel great pain...storms come." 

Faeariel nodded. "Exactly. I suppose they leave though, when the reverse happens. However, you remember how I said a few things had come back to me?" she asked, setting her apple down and turning so she could face him. "Watch.." 

Closing her eyes, she tried to focus her thoughts, her hands cupped together. Shifting her left hand over her right, bits of light began to appear and gather. Finally, there hovered in her hand a small snowflake, glittering in the faint sunlight that was quickly disappearing. She smiled, looking up at him. Taking his hand, she set the snowflake there, and gently blew on his hands. A light bit of frost appeared on his hands, making it possible for him to hold the snowflake for a time without it melting. 

She sat up, smiling at him. "It isn't much, but what do you think?" she asked, tilting her head. With that, she took another drink, a bit more accustomed to the feeling of the burn as it slid down her throat. 

A light of curiosity hit the blue of his eyes. For the moment, he was genuinely intrigued by what she had shown him. It had plagued his mind since the day he found her, to try and get the secrets of her power out of her. Now that she was giving them, he was unsure if that was indeed the sole reason he wanted to have her stay. It was true, that if her powers could be controlled and focused, they would be a force to be reckoned with. No threat of darkness would be able to withstand being frozen solid. 

And yet, there were weaknesses to it as well. Fire would be hard to extinguish if brought too close to her - too much heat could potentially make her sick. It was not a perfect plan to protect his people. 

People, who he had not seen so happy in more than a millennia. In his months of not speaking with her, he had seen her work more oft than he would have liked to admit. Elves of many duties would speak of her, many times sharing some kind of story about her mishaps. The most notable being that of an incident in the kitchen, involving tomatoes. Children would come running through the halls calling for her, or come running into her arms any time they saw her. Her healing touch was almost unheard of and highly praised by the healers, she seemed to be good in the kitchen as well - when she wasn't covered in the food that was supposed to be being cooked. 

Having her there was causing more and more increasingly complicated feelings for him. What his 'plan' was, was becoming blurred. The more they both had to drink -though he himself never reached the point of being truly drunk- the looser, and almost more _fun_ , the conversation became. 

It turned to things that he remembered from his early time of being king, and stories from her about her time with the children, or how the kittens had been getting on. 

There was, at one point, a time where he convinced her to try to learn to dance; she didn't know how and was clumsy anyway, so it didn't go very well. They both seemed to have fun though, even though she'd ended up falling over on him and knocking him into the grass at least twice. The second time, she was prevented from getting up due to the many children who had decided to flop on top of her in a sort of dog pile. It took awhile and some finagling to get them to get off; they were all a giggling mess when they finally ran off again - each with a loose feather from one Faeariel's wings. Later on, they could bee seen running and tickling one another with the feathers, causing a great commotion and laughter throughout the people. 

In short -  the night more than made up for what had passed, and for what would come in future days. 


	10. Dwarves

The days to come after the feast were variated. Faeariel would go from seeing rare glimpses of the king, to being asked to dine with him. It was a confusing business, their relationship. She was uncertain most of the time whether he liked her, or whether he despised the time he spent with her. Nevertheless, Faeariel did continue her own self-given duties about the kingdom.

Children would come to her for many things. From bedtime stories, to begging her to come pick flowers with them. It was only a matter of time, before the children discovered the magic surrounding her. Their desire to spend time with her escalated immensely. This did not bother her, however, because it helped her to work to regain memory of how her abilities worked, and how extensive they were.

Aside from the ever-confusing reactions with the king, there was only one other thing that was bothering her. She often felt as if she were being watched by unfriendly eyes - someone who had some kind of malpurpose in mind. Faeariel would ignore the feeling as well as she could, going about whatever she was doing at the time.

It was on one of these days, that something _most interesting_ happened.

Guards tread down the hall, bringing with them a group of shadows, who did not seem to be very pleased to be there. Curious about the strangers, but not wanting to be caught by the guards, the winter lady hid herself away as well as she might, in the darkness by the wall's corner. From her hiding spot, she could observe the scene before her undetected.

There were thirteen shadows that she counted. Who, or what, they were, was hidden from her. She could hear their voices though, and two in particular seemed to be quite unruly. By the similarity in attitude, she ventured to guess they may be related in some way. The relations of the rest, remained to be seen. As the guards lead their prisoners past, Faeariel edged her way nearer. Only close enough to follow; she had no desire to be seen by the guards, nor by the ones they were leading with them. At least - not yet. Admittedly, she was greatly curious; she would without doubt be trying to see who it was after the guards left.

The sound of cell doors clicking locked one after another greeted her ears as she snuck into the dungeons to observe; what she heard next however, almost made her giggle.

She could see the red-haired elf she'd encountered only a few times before, lingering at one of the cells for a moment. She seemed to be speaking with  one of the freshly captured, although Faeariel only managed to hear the last bit of what was being said between the two.

"Aren't you going to search me? I could have anything down my trousers."

There was a pause between the comment of the prisoner and the response of the elf captain; when her answer came, it seemed as if she answered him with a slight bit of amusement. As much amusement as Faeariel had at the situation. There was a connection made there between the two that she could feel even from her hiding spot; she felt it as clearly as anything she'd ever felt before. It gave her sadness, though. She knew that with Tauriel being a captain and the other being a prisoner, there was slim chance they would get to see each other often. Much less that they would ever get to stay together.

Once the elven guards had left the dungeons,  Faeariel thought to try to come out of her hiding spot. To her surprise, it may have gone beyond the notice of the elves that she was there, though it had not gone past the notice of the prisoners. She would see this, soon enough.

"Do you think there's any way out of here?" one  of them asked, his voice echoing off the stony walls of the dungeon.

"Forget it. Whatever you're in here for, there's not a great chance you're going to be let back out. I'd forget it and settle in if I were you. The king does not take kindly to transgressions - I'm sorry to say, you lot stand far less chance than I do. With you being dwarves, and all." The cynical voice who replied to the male, was one that Faeariel hadn't heard in a very long time.

One of the dwarves looked up, looking towards the direction of the female voice. "Why- you're an elf!" he seemed to be surprised, his exclamation followed by "Whatever reason would the king have to imprison one of his own people? Are you a traitor of some sort?"

The female laughed, shaking her head. Her voice lowered, and she frowned, her head down. "Not hardly, dwarf. I was a healer. My only crime, was withholding information from the king. I almost wish that now, I had told him."

There was a pause, before a dwarf by the name of Bofur ventured to ask her what it was she hadn't told.

"It was in regards to a woman. She had been injured, the king brought her to me himself asking me to heal her. She was pregnant, though with the injuries she'd sustained - there was no way that the child would have survived. It was dead long before he brought her to me."

"I have a hard time believing that the _Elvenking_ would bare any sympathy for a wounded creature - with child or not." The voice that came next was a bit muffled, though Faeariel could still hear it.

Faeariel frowned, shifting in her hiding place. She was deciding whether or not to stay or to leave, when she heard someone speak out to her.

Though only a slight movement, it caught the attention of one of the dwarves; Balin pressed close to the bars of his cell, and looked up towards where she had hidden herself.

"You can come out now, Missy. There's no use in hiding yourself any longer." he called to her, followed by an added "It's not as if we can hurt you." coming from Bofur.

Faeariel was slow in coming forth to reveal herself to them. Something in her still hesitated, though she was greatly curious. She'd never seen a dwarf before now  - she wondered, what were they like?

"I am..not supposed to be down here," Is all she could manage to greet them with. Despite her tell-tale nerves showing through, she was met by the scoffing sneer of the dwarves' leader.

"And do you think, that we **_are_** supposed to be here?"  Thorin asked her, sitting in the corner of his cell.

"No," Faeariel started, frowning softly. "Well, I'm uncertain..I mean..What is it you were doing..when they brought you here..?" She slowly stepped closer to their cells, concern written on her face. The dwarves looked up at her in almost wonder, as they'd never seen something like her before. She held an ethereal beauty, like an elf. Although, something about her seemed off. The dwarves closest to her could feel the cold coming off of her. The feeling of sheer... _magic_.

"We were looking for food, shelter. Sustenance to help us on our journey." The answer came from a few of them, adding to one another's reply. She listened in silence, about to answer when she heard Lithoniel call to her.

"Lady..M'lady..What are you doing in a place like this?"

Her tone was not like how she used to speak with her, she seemed a lot less energetic. Less..like herself. Faeariel was not sure where to turn, her attention split between the dwarves and her former healer.

"So you are the one the king brought here." Thorin shook his head. "A prisoner as well, with the false idea of freedom to roam."

"No, I am not a prisoner.. I am free to go where I want..when I choose to. I am no prisoner."

Reiterating her point once more, Faeariel frowned softly. She looked away, thinking perhaps she should leave.

"You say you are free to roam where you please, and yet you say you are not allowed to be in here. You let them order you about, like some kind of pet? Your use will run short, winged one. Pets only last so long as their masters choose to keep them. Once they have no more use of you, where do you think you will be? They will turn on you. They will turn their back on you as they did my father, as they did me, all those years ago. You might as well leave on your own. You'd be better off that way. Getting used to life as a pampered palace wretch will only get you killed later on. By the look of you, you are so frail it won't be long. You will be left out in a matter of weeks, two or three at the most. Who will come to your aid then, woman?"

Tears pricked at the corners of Faeariel's eyes. She had not heard such things spoken to her in a long time--to hear them now felt as if she'd been stabbed in the stomach.

"You speak poison, dwarf.." She half growled at him, her hands gripping the bars to his cell. Frost and ice crept along the bars, her anger clear. "...I do not need you to tell me where or if I am needed. I have been told many times on my own without your viscous spewing of words; I have seen and heard the disdain of both the king and his son."

The sight of her powers only spurred Thorin on, where he growled out the word 'witch' at her; his gaze so sharp, Faeariel could feel it pierce her soul.

"Enough, dwarf! You are no bigger than the children I look after. What right have you to say such things to me? To call me a witch, insinuate I do not belong here?" Her eyes narrowed. Her grip clasped hard around his throat, ice forming on his flesh; her hand covered in it. It was not until she felt an invisible blade pierce her side, that she let go. Recoiling in pain, Thorin's look of hatred only grew more absolute.

He rubbed his throat as she did hold her side; Thorin only sneered at her. He took no notice to her sudden falter of pain; neither to did he care to take notice of the blood coming from her side.

"..Perhaps I was wrong.. You **_do_** belong here. It is only fitting that a monster should be held captive by a monster. Witchcraft. You hide behind frailty, but are in truth nothing more than a witch. You will bring death to all you touch--freezing cold death. As cold as the heart that must beat in your chest, if you have one!"

His words echoed through the dungeon, still burning in her ears as she fled the area. Tripping up the stairs, she left a few drops of blood here and there on the floor. Faeariel's heart throbbed in her chest, her body wracking with tears. She looked shakily to her hands when she made it to the safety of her room. They still had frost on them. What made her how she was, what gave her her abilities, her wings; Faeariel neither knew nor cared. She did not want them anymore. Ripping a piece of her dress off and binding her middle, she contemplated what to do. The thought to run away, to never come back, was most tempting.

What could have brought such horrid words from Thorin, Faeariel had no idea. Such hate, she had only seen rival of in one person. Although this had changed, time and again. With Thorin, she wasn't sure he would ever change.

After awhile of sitting in her room, Faeariel made her decision. She would sit in the garden for awhile, perhaps try to paint. She had not done so much to try to prove herself to return to her old way - to cry, and run away. Refusing to give Thorin the satisfaction of upsetting her further, Faeariel gathered up her painting supplies and went out to spend some time alone. Perhaps, she might even decide to be bold enough, to venture into the woods alone to explore. Thinking ahead for this idea, she left a brief note, and filled a small bag with what she thought she'd need. No real access to a weapon for defense, Faeariel resigned to briefly 'borrow' a kitchen knife. Sure she wouldn't be gone long, Faeariel set off with her pack, a cape, and her short culinary blade .

Perhaps she would stay in the garden. Perhaps not.

****  
Brooding over the sudden visitation on his kingdom of dwarves, Thranduil frowned statically at seeming nothing. At last, he stood. Summoning for the dwarves' leader, he turned to wait, his hands behind his back. His mind was so consumed at this time with the thoughts of what was currently happening, that it slipped his gaze entirely when Faeariel snuck out the main gate.

Thranduil stood in this way until the great doors opened. Without turning to look at the dwarven king, Thranduil began rather calmly. Despite his true whirlwind of emotion at the time.

"Some may imagine that a Noble quest is at hand. A Quest to reclaim a homeland and slay a dragon. I myself, suspect a more prosaic motive. Attempted burglary, or something of that ilk."

Thranduil turns, and leans down to look at Thorin closely. His eyes hold place with Thorin's, despite the embedded look of hatred that replied. 

Ignoring it, Thranduil continued. "You have found a way in. You seek that which would bestow upon you the right to rule. A King's jewel. The Arkenstone. It is precious to you beyond measure, I understand that. There are gems in the mountain that I too desire. White gems of pure starlight. I offer you my help." 

Thorin exhales softly, smiling in a way that is not exactly friendly. It is clear, that like the elf before him; Thorin is only tolerating their meeting. "I am listening." 

"I will let you go, if you but return what is mine."

Thorin nods slowly, as if he were thinking it over.  "A favor for a favor." he briefly mused, though he did not add anything else.

"You have my word. One King to another."

Thorin is silent for a time, before he finally let loose his venom on Thranduil as he had Faeariel in the dungeons. "I would not trust, Thranduil, the great King, to only his word. Till the end of all days be upon us!"

The Elvenking is silent, true shock registering on his face. He had known of the dwarf's hatred; it was unexpected he would toss it about so violently - much less in direct presence of the much taller, more apt to be able to slay him, individual before him. 

Thorin continued his rant, as if Thranduil's expression bore no effect on him whatsoever. " You, lack all honor! I have seen how you treat your friends! We came to you once, starving, homeless; seeking your help. But you turned your back! You, turned away from the suffering of my people and the inferno that destroyed us!" In his own language, Thorin added " ** _..Ishkh khakfe andu null_**.."

Sudden fury pulses through the Elvenking's veins, the side of his face shifting to reveal an age old scar, which he had done much work to conceal. "Do not talk to me of dragon fire! I know it's wrath and ruin. I have faced the great serpents of the North." his words were hissed, the revelation of his wound vanishing as swiftly as it had appeared. 

Anger now resonating in his voice, Thranduil turned away from Thorin once more. "I warned your grandfather of what his greed would summon, but he would not listen."

 "You are just like him."

Done with the furiation of dealing with the dwarf, Thranduil motioned for the guards to drag away the now struggling dwarf king. 

"..Stay here if you will, and rot." Thranduil almost growled beneath his breath, now seated on his throne once more, his gaze fixated on the retreating figures. 

 "A hundred years is a mere blink in a life of an Elf. I'm patient. _I can wait._ " 


	11. Traitor in the Woods

Unbeknownst to both Faeariel and the king, she had been followed when she left. Such an under sight on the part of the Elvenking, would cost not only him, but Faeariel as well.

The one in pursuit of her, had in fact, been watching her for a very long time. Thus being the source of her discomfort in recent days. His plan was simple, his task seeming all too easy to execute. As he had silently observed, Thranduil had taken quite a liking to Faeariel, whether he wished to admit so to himself or anyone else, or not. With that thought, this made her one of the Elvenking's most prized belongings - for most certainly, he must think she belongs to him.

Having something that one prized so much, oft proved to be a weakness; a weakness, this traitor of the kingdom planned to exploit to the fullest. As a revenge for something happened in a long time past, he would 'guide' Faeariel to an appointed meeting place. There, she would be given to a pack of orcs, with instructions to do _whatsoever_ they pleased with her. This, as well as information regarding the presence of the dwarves they were hunting, would in turn garner him a handsome reward. As usual- gems, coins, and other priceless stolen items that had no doubt once belonged to the victims of the Orcs' merciless crimes. _Greed_ ; it would seem, was his most 'prized possession.'

Faeariel's exploration of the woods proved to be most relaxing for her. She found an interestingly-shaped, gnarled old tree to climb; which she helped herself to a nap in - it was surprisingly comfortable. Despite the obvious chance of there being danger in the forest, Faeariel was not quite so worried as she should have been.

An hour or so passed as she napped, nefarious dealings sending a rather bawdy band of orcs very near to where she was at. Amidst this fact, somewhere hidden away in the dungeons, was an individual bent on attempting to free his friends from their cells. He was small, smaller than the dwarves in fact; this advantage making it so he could pass unheard to the ears of many - even those of elves. The second advantage the small one had, was the benefit of complete invisibility. Having found the oddest thing hiding away in the troll caves, he had kept it on him ever since.

It did not take long, once there were no elves about, for Bilbo to find where the keys were. All he had to do now, was get to them. On his way there, he would have to pass through the area where the elves dumped their empty barrels into the river. The sight of this gave Bilbo an idea; the dwarves would not be quite as fond of it as he, but they would have no other means to escape. This was their only choice.

As to the events in the forest, there would soon be someone who also would be in great need of a plan to escape. For, the danger in which she was about to fall, she very well may just barely get away with her life - if, and only if, she were so lucky as to get away _at all._

The rotten stench of an Orc band could have stretched for miles. It was a smell not unknown to Faeariel, in fact it was one which she had come to know all too well. Far too well, for her own liking. They were close, this much she knew. How close, however, was hard to have by the smell as it was incredibly mind-numbing. Faeariel would have to rely on her ears to tell her how close they were to her, and rely on her feet to carry her as far as possible in the opposite direction. It would have been easier for her to fly away; flight, though, would be nothing but a disadvantage to her in this situation. She would give her location away far too quickly. For all Faeariel knew, she could be dead quicker by way of air than she would be by trying to run away.

She chose a spot which had enough light for her to see, but seemed to have enough darkness added in, that she might be able to find a place to hide. Just as she went to dive into her hiding place, she saw an elf. A tall, dark haired male elf. He was not too far from her, she reasoned that perhaps he might help her find her way back to safety. Out of her despair to get away with her life in fact, she called up to him. All that came to mind, was an elvish phrase she had lived up upon while playing with the children.

"Edraith enni!" A simple phrase, one that meant 'save me.' Children used it when being chased by one another. Faeariel used it in distress; she used it in hopes the elf she saw truly would come to her aid. "Edraith enni!" She called again to him, this time louder. She was becoming frantic now. She tried to remember more of what she learned, only to come up with the words for 'please.'

"Edraith enni, An ngell nîn! Edraith enni!"

The elf turned to look down at her, a look in his eyes she could not discern. How pathetic she looked to him. Her cries of 'please save me' meant no more to him than if she had commanded him to help her. He remained where he was, looking off to the side. He gave a shrill whistle; within seconds, to Faeariel's absolute horror, she was surrounded by orcs.  An arrow came flying down from the elf's direction. Faeariel would have _thought,_ it would be to kill an Orc. She was mistaken - the arrow was not only for her, it went right into one of the most sensitive parts of her right wing. She let a sharp cry of pain and recoiled, only to be very violently taken hold of by two larger orcs. They held her up as she elf came foreword. His hood now down, he smirked at her. A bulging bag of valuables were tossed at him, he caught them with ease. He stepped closer to Faeariel and examined her, as if looking over a sheep for slaughter. He simply sneered at her, and grabbed her jaw fiercely. He stared into her eyes, but spoke only in a language that the orcs understood. The last part, he spoke so she would understand.

"Remove her wings.. I want them left by the river.." His eyes fell to her necklace. He traced his fingers along it, then flipped a hair out of her face. "Such a pity..this is. Even though I find you incredibly annoying, and you really aren't much to look at, I think I might have liked a hour with you before handing you over." Faeariel looked at him indignantly, biting his hand when he touched her face.

"You are a pig!" She spat, struggling to get away from the orcs that held her. "You are not worthy to be an elf. Your treachery will be uncovered, do not think you can get away with this!" A swift slap to her face silenced her for a moment, long enough that he could tear off the necklace she'd been given by the king, and pocket it for his own.

"Whether or not I will be found out, I do not believe you will be alive to know. **_M'lady_**." He gave a fake bow, leaving her with one last mocking remark, before he again vanished into the wood.

****

Her shrieks of agony could be heard for miles. The cruel way the orcs decided to 'amuse' themselves with her while waiting for news of the dwarves, was too horrid even for words. They each seemed to want a turn, to find some way to dredge enjoyment for themselves from her.

As to her wings, they decided breaking them first would be more fun than simply cutting them off outright. With large rocks, both of her wings were pounded upon repeatedly. Her hands bound, there was nothing she could do -  but give them the pained cries the so desired from her.

The process went on for what felt like hours to her. In reality, it was not nearly but one. When they tired of breaking her wings, crude weaponry was brought out. Long chains with razor sharp spindles jutting out of the links, curved swords with cleft tops, and a wide array of other things. Things, they seemed to feel the need to pile in front of her so she could see them.

"You does have such pretty skin.." One of them drawled, laughing as he trailed his filthy hand along her cheek. " 'S a  pity I cain't wears it. 'D make a lovely coat.." He laughed, only stopping when another Orc came along and smacked him in the head. "We ain't got time for yer foolishness," the taller Orc growled, then turned to Faeariel and grinned. "Later on when our work's done.. Then maybe we cain 'sire us a filly..' " he then laughed as well, walking off with his enormous club, which looked to be covered in nails, or shards of something.

Faeariel closed her eyes tightly. She resigned herself then, to death. She would never again see any of those who resided in the home she had come to be so fond of. She would die here. Alone; she would die surrounded by the smells of rotting flesh, the wretched sounds of the orcs' voices, and without even an ounce of comfort as she died. Tears burned her eyes, streaking down her face. She did her best not to give them any more pleasure from her pain, though it was hard, still she refused to blubber. Such an action would only prove her all the more weaker than she may already have looked. Her only choice now, was to take her death in as much silence as she could muster.

She did wonder though, very briefly. _Would either the Elvenking or his son care if she perished? Or would they be happy... Finally free of the burden of having her there?_

****

He had only closed his eyes, to rest them for a moment. Without truly meaning to, Thranduil had fallen asleep on his throne, his  cheek resting against his hand. A dreamless sleep he had; his sleep being cut short, by the sudden shock of pain he felt. It was as if he had been stabbed. Looking down for a wound, he saw nothing. There was no wound. There was no one else in the throne room either. This made his brows furrow together in question. _One did not simply feel pain out of nowhere_ , and for no reason. Just as the pain came again, and he caught barely what he thought was a faint cry of some kind, it was drowned out entirely; the slamming of great oaken doors being the only sound he could hear. His gaze averted towards the doors immediately, his hand falling away from where he had been holding his chest. The sight he gained, was one most unwelcome. 

"They're gone!" Lithoniel's call came out in heavy gasps;  she had ran all the way there from the dungeons, to where Faeariel's room was, then to the throne room. "All of them. They've all gone." she repeated, trying to catch her breath. 

Thranduil frowned deeply, the sight of her drawing back the anger he had felt with her before. Her words fell on deaf ears, he had no care to try to listen to her. Taking hold of her arm, he glared at her. In a voice like ice, he growled "You have great **_nerve_** in coming here, Lithoniel. I was lenient with you before, your insolence now will not treated with such kindness..You know what you have done is n'er forgivable." 

Too impatient to deal with the anger of her king, Lithoniel tore her arm from his grasp. " **Silence yourself!** " she spat, anger now reddening her pale face. A face, that had been ravished by tears and sleepless nights -  as well as her growing bitterness towards Thranduil. 

Surprise filled his features; for a moment, he forgot his anger with her. So shocked was he, that she had such gull as to yell at him in such a way. 

"Can you not listen to me, for but a moment?" she asked, her features folded in such anger, she could hardly contain it. "Cease your need to belittle me! I know you are unhappy with me, Thranduil. That much you have made clear. Do not mistake my coming here as saying I am not unhappy with my own actions as well." 

The anger slowly drained from her face, being swiftly replaced by something else. Something, he was having trouble placing at the moment; no elf of late had referred to him by his true name, they all knew better; Lithoniel's actions caught him far more than simply off-guard. Whether it was rage or confusion he felt, it was something he would have to be sorted out later. 

"None of that matters now,  you can deal with me later. If it be death, then so be it. For now, I need you to listen to me. Open your ears, there is trouble." she paused, gathering herself. she felt bad for what she was about to do, though she knew she needed to gain his attention somehow. aside from that, she was sure her little rescuer knew she would have to alert the king, as he had let on to knowing as much. Still; he had taken enough time from his hurry, to allow her to thank him with a hug, and a soft kiss to his forehead. He received the latter, with a soft rosy blush. This only making Lithoniel think him all the more adorable; his actions of trying to still appear 'manly' when bidding her goodbye and running to his friends, furthering this.

"The dwarves have all gone. They escaped by means of the river." Lithoniel bit her lip, then looked up to him with the utmost sincerity. "The Lady Faeariel...she is gone, as well. I am worried.. She left a note, and there are things of hers that are missing.. I fear what may happen to her on her own. Despite her power..the dwarf said things to her--" 

The Elvenking's gaze was sharp now, turning to her instantly. " **Dwarf**. _Which **dwarf**_ ** _?_** " he had his suspicion, though he was waiting for her to confirm it. 

"Thorin. I believe his name is Thorin - I know he was their leader. What he said to her..my king, I cannot repeat." she shook her head, frowning deeply. "She left in tears. If she has gone to the woods for solace as her note says.. Orcs have been sighted." 

This was all Thranduil needed to hear, before he was off. He could not lose her to them, he could not allow more blood to rest on his hands. This time, he would stop it. There was only hope, that he wouldn't be too late.  

****

Out in the river, the scene was utter chaos. The dwarves were trying to make their escape, the orcs surrounded the banks and were firing countless arrows at them; to try to stop them, both Tauriel and Legolas were fighting them off. 

Amidst the mayhem, another problem came up. In order to ensure their freedom, the lever to open the upcoming dam would have to be pulled. Ever the one to try to help, one of the youngest, a nephew of Thorin's; leapt to the call. Though he was far from being a terrible fighter, Kili sustained an injury that may have made anyone who did not know him think so. 

Captive of the orcs, half-dead and barely breathing, help for him came off from the side. In the form of ice, sliding the orc closest to Kili to its death; on the other hand, sliding Kili to safety, via one of the closest empty barrels. In spite of Thorin's words to her, Faeariel held no wish to see anyone hurt how she was by the foul creatures she'd been handed over to. Seconds after her attempt to save Kili, she found herself being picked up and dragged away, by an orc which thought to escape from the battle, taking her with him as a kind of collateral "prize." This was something that Kili could neither alert anyone of, nor stop; Kili had just barely caught witness of it as the river carried both him, and the rest of the company, away. 

Thankfully for Faeariel, not all of her hope was lost. Through half-closed eyes, she caught glimpse of someone she thought she would never see again.  Briefly, her muddling mind wondered: _Had he come to look for her?_

Witha horrible warmness taking over her body, it took much effort, for her simple plea of help. It was a tiny thing, one that would go unnoticed by the creature which thought he was going to take off with her. A small kiss to her fingertips, taking form of the smallest snowflake; Faeariel sent it off with a short breath, only praying it to reach its mark. 

****

The events to follow, were all but a complete blur to her.

The snowflake she sent out, just barely a kiss of winter, found its target; Upon feeling the cold hit his cheek, it was all that was needed, for the attentions of the Elvenking to be drawn in the right direction. The arrow to follow took down the orc immediately, a good thing in that he could not run any further - a bad thing, in that he had fallen on top of Faeariel, who was already having trouble breathing. The added heat of the staunchy being  did not help her state of health any; Faeariel's hands being bound, she could not have pushed it off of her even if she had had the strength to do so. 

Having lost her consciousness, Faeariel could not bare witness to the sheer anger and hatred that seeped from her savior. She could not see the torrent of emotion that rocked through his blue-grey eyes. He was angry. Angry with her, for having left alone, angry with Thorin for refusing his help, and for the fact that he and his lot had escaped; Thranduil was severely displeased with seeing Lithoniel free, and ultimately, he was infuriated for what had been done to Faeariel. Again, he questioned himself internally. _Was anger all he felt, was his frustration with her the only reason seeing her like this caused him such pain?_

The fight over, he had time enough to carry her back without worry. The 'clean-up' afterwards was being taken care of; Legolas and Tauriel had even managed to find a surviving monster to bring in and question. 

All-in-all, it seemed aesthetically that not much damage had been done. Save for to the lady being brought in by the king. She was held close, the unsettling rise of her temperature not the only thing that was bothering him about her condition. There were countless cuts and abrasions covering her arms and legs, and she was covered in all degree of bruises. This was not the worst of it;  Faeariel seemed to be covered in what he could only assume was her own blood. The very worst seemed to be the fact that her wings had been removed - and in a very savage, brutal way. Upon later inspection, her back was scratched up heavily. The flesh around where her wings used to be, was torn and caked in dirt and dark blood.

Her state was more than he could process, especially with the reminder of the fact that he had not only a pair of blundering guards to apprehend,  but an orc to question. He did not know which he was more likely to unleash his building anger on, he figured the time would come when he would see which it was. 

For now, he had another business to attend to. 

It did not bring him any comfort, nor did it bring him any pleasure. He would have to send for Lithoniel. as an experienced healer, he had no other choice. She had at one time been held in very high regard, even by him. 

Lithoniel greeted him at first with a cold look, though it immediately softened and became one of concern, and even anger. Thranduil had but one thing to say to her, before leaving Faeariel in her care. Aside from that she was to be the main one to work on her, and she was to call for Tarivyn as soon as possible; his last words to her were no less icy than before when they spoke, though they were very much more..hollow. 

"See to it that she does not die, Lithoniel. If ever she comes close to it, you may consider your life forfeit. This is your last chance, healer. Mess it up, and you will find yourself on the other side of a very sharp blade." 

Though his words were empty, they were not without merit. In knowing this, Lithoniel bowed her head to him, then turned to close the door. She, like the king, had much to attend to. Lithoniel, however, would be working to _preserve_ a life. 

Thranduil, in his anger, was much more likely going to be _taking_ one. 


	12. In regards, to the winter lady

There was barely a time when he was not seated beside her bed. No visible signs of improvement were appearing; by how she lay, and the fact that she had yet to wake, it did not seem as if the Lady Faeariel would have much time left to live.

Tending to her was a precarious business. If she were to get any warmer, she would most certainly die. On the other hand, her wounds had to be checked nearly constantly. The wounds where her wings had once been, were the worst. Even though they had been cleaned out, they did not seem to want to heal. These wounds were the deepest, the most serious; if these wounds weren't soon healed, they alone may very well be the death of her.

Thranduil was uncertain now, how he felt on the matter. It was almost as if he had become numb, to everything. His last show of true unbridled emotion, had been when he faced the orc held captive, and later, the one responsible for giving Faeariel away to them in the first place.

****

"My king..I believe you will want to see this."

The solemn voice of a elven scout filled the room, interrupting the interrogation of the orc Legolas had brought to his father.

With her, the scout carried something large, and wrapped carefully, bound loosely with rope. From the dark feathers that fell from the parcel, it was not difficult to know what it was that the scout held so carefully in her arms.  
Thranduil's vacant expression changed swifter than an eye could blink; the fury of the Elvenking was not easily hidden once it reached a peak. It seemed that now, this was exactly so.

"Where did you find those?" He asked, stepping down from his throne. His eyes met hers and held them, daring her to reply with anything but the truth. "Tell me, now. _Where was it that Faeariel's wings were found?"_

The scout did not hesitate, her answer immediate and to the point.  "They were found near the riverside. Not far from where the orcs attacked the dwarves when the escaped."

Turning, Thranduil took hold of the Orc roughly and stared him down. "What do you know of these?" He asked lowly, his grip tightening when he turned the Orc towards the scout who held the severed items  so precious. Tossing the fell creature to the ground, he called impatiently " ** _Speak_**!"

True to the nature of the monsters, the Orc simply laughed as if he found the whole ordeal to be some kind of funny. He looked up, and pointed an accusing finger at an elf being lead in behind where the she-elf stood before him.

"If ye wants to know..ask the filthy elf!" He spat, laughing his head off. " 'E cain tell ye everything ye want ta know. 'E brought 'er to us." The Orc turned, looking up at Thranduil. "Right pretty little wench, she was a real screama too." He snickered, watching hate fill the Elvenking's eyes. "Too bad ye came along 'n ruined our fun, twig head. She probably coulda been much louda - we was gonna get a good sire'n outta that'n, we was!" This was mostly to get a rouse out of Thranduil. To see how much pain could be dealt to him before the fate of certain death the Orc knew he could not escape. "For all'n ye knows, maybe we did get a good ridin' in. Maybe, yer pretty little snowflake has gots one 'a mine!" The Orc cackled, coughing up blood as he grinned at Thranduil, finding amusement in the utter disgust he showed.

Legolas stood behind his father, his stomach churning. The very idea that what the creature spoke of was possible, sickened him. Unfortunately, it was something Legolas knew all too well to be true. Such a wretched event was not something he would wish on any woman of any race, regardless his own personal grievances with her. Seeing the changes in his father's stance, Legolas whipped out his bow, his arrow ready to threaten the Orc into silence.

Too late, were his actions. Within the mere milliseconds it took the prince to arm himself, the king had already relieved the air of the Orc's blatant lies; Thranduil had swiftly beheaded the Orc, silencing his tongue once and for all.

The pain he felt to the thought of such an already broken woman being defiled in such a grotesque and despicable manner, was tenfold that of any wound he could have sustained by way of arrow, or by way of blade. Especially - because of who the woman was.

"Ada, we could have learnt more from the beast. Besides, did you not promise to free him? He was soon to die anyway." Legolas tried to reason with his father, though his words fell on ears bent upon listening to no one.

"I did free him. I freed his miserable head from his wretched body." Was all Thranduil could reply with, before his eyes slowly rose to meet those of the elf whom the Orc had implicated was responsible. Not one to usually take the word of such a lowly and horrendous thing, the Elvenking made his exception this day. Without breaking eye contact with the traitor, he ordered all of them from the room. Including his son, to whom he gave instruction to safeguard the wings found by the scouts. He knew not yet what to do with them, so this was all he could say. At the moment, he had other matters to _attend_ to.

****

The memories of what had happened in the throne room replayed over and over in Thranduil's mind. For the first time in hundreds of years, he felt helpless. This was an emotion the king had long ran off from his mind; 'helplessness' was no friend of him, Thranduil would not allow it to stay long, if he had any say in the matter. There had to be something he could do. If not for her, then there must be something he could do otherwise.

Once more, the Elvenking rose from his seat; he took one last look at Faeariel's lifeless form as if to see if there were any chance of an improvement, then left as he had each time with the same answer: she lay unchanged. His disappointment was hidden by layers of practiced hollow expression; no one but he, and of course the observant healer he so oft was at odds with, would truly know how he felt. Although, there was as equal a chance that his son would have his suspicions as well.

No sooner had Thranduil left the room, the door was quietly opening again. This time, not to the king, but to the prince, instead.

It was true, Legolas had yet to make a true connection of any kind with Faeariel. He was still unsure how he felt about her. It was as if every time he thought he knew, something would happen; Legolas's view of her would shift entirely, and he no longer knew how he felt. In silence, he took the seat his father had sat in prior to his - completely unscheduled - visit. His brows furrowed as he rest his chin on his fists, his elbows propped on his knees. His gaze fixated on her unmoving figure. Faeariel had been so small when she first came to the Greenwood. By no means, was she overweight; by no means, was she even very big-boned. In his eyes, she could have stood to gain a few pounds - and a backbone with thicker skin to cover it. The timid demeanor she presented only furthered his antipathy of her, and his obstinate belief that she did not belong there.

That aside; looking at her now, her appearance was languid. Much more than a simple ailment, if her wounds were telling of anything, Faeariel would be like this for a very long time. That is, unless she were to get 'higher' help. Athelas alone _should_ have been enough - which is why even the prince grew troubled over the lady's condition. Any improvement she had made was buried beneath sickness and hopelessness. It crossed Legolas's mind, benignly, to put an end to her suffering. He could do it - in her current sate, it wasn't as if she would be likely feel a thing. It would be _best for her_ , to be at peace; Legolas reasoned with himself, his thoughts in turmoil. It would be best for her, to be at peace; it would be best, for his father, to no longer be so distraught over her. The thought seemed a solid one, his resolve seemed to be absolute; yet, something in him told him: _it would not be best for her_. She was young, she deserved to live. There was much yet she could do, if she were only given the chance to do so.

The same thing, told him - _it would_ ** _not_** _be best for his father_ ; Legolas had seen him on occasion with the lady, the light in the king's eyes was one the prince had not seen since the years before his mother died.

He was back to square one, he felt. His hands running down his face in frustration, he slowly exhaled and stood.

"I do not know whether or not you can hear me, Faeariel," Legolas frowned, slowly sitting on the floor by her bed. "But there are things..I should like to tell you, if you can." Legolas closed his eyes, taking time to gather himself in a short pause. What he had to say to her could not wait, it was also not short - the problem with this being that Legolas had made up his mind to follow Tauriel after his leaving of Faeariel's room.

"You remind me greatly of my mother. You are every bit as beautiful and kindhearted as she; I will say she was also a fighter though. This is not something I had ever thought to see in you. My judgements of you have been harsh, but not without merit. Leaving on your own was simply idiotic! You could have been slain in the first hour of your leaving. No one would have been able to help you, no one would have known to come to your aid. Whatever it was that possessed you to do something so ill-thought, I cannot say I can see it." With each word, the prince could feel his anger growing. Anger aimed at not only her, but at many things. Anger, that perhaps was even aimed at his mother.

"...Another funeral I cannot bare. Burying someone who should have had all right to live, someone who bears such a painful resemblance to my mother.." His voice cracked. He shut his eyes, going quiet a moment. "..If not for yourself, hear me now; Lady Faeariel, you must wake soon. Wake soon, get better. Fight your illness the way you surely must have fought the orcs which inflicted it. If not for yourself, you must wake for my father. He thinks he hides it well but he is in grieving. No matter how angry you make him, Ada does care for you. In his own right." Legolas rose, his brows creasing. He had not take conscious notice to the tears falling from his eyes, though he absently smeared them away. "Ada may be cold at times, but he does not deserve more pain than has already been dealt him. Wake soon, Lady Faeariel. Or I shall have to kill you myself."

With those last muttered words, Legolas left the room. He did not see Lithoniel standing just behind the door, and so had no knowledge to what she had heard nor how much she had heard.

His mind was far too occupied with his next mission. He would not let Tauriel go alone, he had tarried long enough. If he left now, he could catch up with her before she got far, of this he was certain.

****

Lithoniel had heard enough to know what Legolas had said, and to gather a basic understanding of why it was that he had stopped there. she had come herself, to check once more on the condition of Faeariel's wounds. Having heard talking, she remained in the hall to wait; Lithoniel did have her own thoughts that were distracting her, being a healer did not exempt her from this. Sometimes, she wished it did. To not be distracted by the frustration she felt towards the king would be very beneficial to her - she would be able to get on about her business, without having to take extra care to see to it that her anger did not cause her to make a mistake.  Now, however, was a different case. Her distractions had nothing to do with the king, but rather.. much more to do with a certain little one. Not a child, but one who seemed one in the eyes of a people who towered over them so. 

In her hand, Lithoniel held a small brass button. It was a bit scratched up in places, though the details drew her olive hues to them immediately. Such care seemed to be taken in the craft of such a simple thing. This was something that she admired greatly, and found herself focusing on intently as she turned the button in her fingers. 

A soft hint of warmth snuck its way to her cheeks; her eyes closed in one silent moment to remember how she had come to receive the small button. 

_The day she had finally been released from her cramped cell, was the day when they met. So very brief had been the moment -  though she still found herself thinking of it. Why he had decided to free her, she was still not entirely sure she knew. What he said to her did help. Perhaps, she was overthinking something something that was altogether as simple as that he had meant what he said at the time, and nothing more._

_He had appeared seemingly from out of nowhere, the keys in his hand shakily jangling around as his eyes darted to and fro, ensuring that he would not be caught; Bilbo also feared his decision to free her may delay him so much that his mission would fail and the company would be returned to their cells with no chance of again being able to escape. Their entire purpose of setting out together would be lost, they would have no hope of ever being able to see Erebor again -  let alone be the ones to reclaim their home. And yet,_ **yet** _. There was something within him, that did not sit well with the idea of leaving a healer in the dungeons. Clearly, she did not belong there. Such powerful beauty did not belong in a dark place, let alone a beauty that brought healing._

_"Go. Leave this place, you do not belong here. If you truly are a healer, then your place is not here. With the trouble I've seen...there will be many who will be in need of your service."_  

_There was an urgency in his eyes, something about him that told her he was speaking of the most sincerity and candor. She nodded, standing quickly from the dusty floor of her cell. She stepped out, looked around, then bent down to him._

_"...I would suggest that you first attend to your lady. I did not meant to hurt her, though I was trying to protect Thorin..Who, by the way, I really do apologize for his rudeness. Such rude remarks are simply unacceptable - give her my apologies,"_

_He was cut off, by her hug. She was grateful to him, for freeing her. She could see the goodness in him, it was a quality not many held so strongly. He seemed startled by her embrace, though hesitantly returned it. He had been shocked into silence, his attention momentarily captivated by her._

_"You have my eternal gratitude, my small hero.." Lithoniel smiled at him, brushing his messy curls away just enough to place a soft kiss in the center of his forehead. To further prove it, she took off her necklace and placed it in his hand, curling his fingers around it. It was a very special necklace; Lithoniel's mother, or, a woman whom was very much a mother to her, had given it to her a long time ago._

_"I cannot take this from you," Bilbo shook his head, trying to give it back to her. "Such a gift..I am not worthy of.."_

_"Take it. I want you to have it, to remind you that more than trouble comes from the Greenwood. Please, do take it."_

_There was a moment of silence in which Bilbo stared at his hand. He seemed conflicted. There was nothing on him that he could give her in return, save for the ring.._

_Somehow, this seemed an extraordinarily bad idea._

_In thought, Bilbo found his free hand wandering to the last button still just barely attached to his vest.  A soft smile crossed his face. Bilbo looked up to Lithoniel, and in turn took her hand. Tearing off the button, he placed it in her hand in the same way she had given him her necklace._

_"This isn't much..but..here. I hope you like it.." he nodded, chewing at his lower lip. "Perhaps it will remind you of where I come from. The Shire, if you've ever been there. If not..you are always welcome to come. My house is the one with the scratched green door..."_

He had had to run off after that, this was where their meeting had ended. It seemed ages to Lithoniel, though in truth; their meeting had only taken places in mere seconds.  

Once the door had come open, Lithoniel's focus came back to reality. She gathered herself, and slid the button into a small pocket in her dress. Waving a few rogue blonde curls out of her face, Lithoniel entered the room, hoping beyond hope, that Faeariel was doing better. At the same time, very far away, there was someone wondering how _she_ was doing. 

Lithoniel laid out what she would need, on a table not far from Faeariel's bed. Around her ankles, pranced the plumpest feline who had been gifted to Faeariel by the king. He, and the other two loyal kittens which resided in Faeariel's room had grown quite protective of her. Banished from her bed due to her need to avoid all sources of extra heat, the kittens had their own place across the room set up for them by Lithoniel. There were enough extra blankets and pillows for all three of them, and it seemed enough to keep them happy for the time being. Although, there were still times when Lithoniel had to make them get off the bed. They were very persistent little fuzzballs. 

"Listen here, you. I cannot be bothered with purring fluff right now. I need to help your Nana, she isn't well." Lithoniel kissed the kitten's nose, then set him down and set him off to be with the others. 

With her distractions out of the way, Lithoniel got to work trying to take care of Faeariel. She would have to clean her wounds and change her bandages, change her night gown, and freshen up the bed. The first order of business as to her wounds, was the worst of them: the lacerations and abrasions caused to her back, when her wings were taken from her.  

"I do hope they have gotten better.." Lithoniel heard herself whisper beneath her breath, as she began to peel away the bandages she had wrapped her wounds with not too much earlier. Her breath caught in her throat, however. Faeariel's wounds had not gotten any better. They were getting worse; Faeariel's injuries looked as though they had never been touched at all. 

"My lady...I..have failed you.." hot, stinging tears pricked Lithoniel's eyes. "It seems as if everything I have done..has only made you sicker.." Her voice cracked, and she felt her throat closing. she felt as if her overwhelming senses of pain and almost..guilt.. were choking her. Lithoniel grasped tightly at one of the bandages she had intended to use for her. Tarivyn should have been there by now to assist Lithoniel, but she was now very glad that she wasn't. 

Ideas, hopeless thoughts, and strained wanderings passed through her head. Finally, she set down the bandage, and steeled herself as well as she could. What she would have to do now, would be no easy task. Lithoniel would have to tell the king of her conclusions on Faeariel's condition. She was certain, he would not like her answer. 

Her trek down the halls felt like it took ages to get through; she felt as if she were stuck in the thickest mud ever made, her steps were so difficult to make. Finally, the young healer found her way to the king's chambers, where she had been told she would find him. She opened the door, and cleared her throat, drawing Thranduil's attention to her. The immediate look in his eyes made her message so much harder to deliver. 

"My Lord, I bear news..regarding Lady Faeariel's condition." 


	13. The Boldness of A Helaer

"There's nothing more that I can do for her."

Lithoniel's statement hit hard. The immediate response she got was of course, rage. The healer had known to expect this, though not quite so sudden and so in-her-face.

"What do you mean, there is _nothing more you can do?"_ Thranduil's voice was full of ice, that familiar hatred towards her flaring up in his eyes again. "I allow you to remain free. I allow you, to return to your healing duties. I _trust_ you, to tend to the _one_ person who needs it most. **_And you can't help her?"_**

Lithoniel frowned, crossing her arms. "If I am not mistaken, _your majesty_ , the one and only reason I am free at all, is because of the kindness of a Hobbit. It has _nothing_ to do with _you_ , or your extreme and _complete_ lack of kindness or sympathy." Her words dripped with venom, her bitterness at him returning quite swiftly from where she had shoved it down and ignored it.

"Hobbit. _What hobbit?"_ Thranduil asked, now towering over her. "There were no hobbits among the company of dwarves brought to the dungeon that day."

"It does not matter, 'what hobbit.' It does not matter; because the point is, I came to you with news and you have cut me off. You have not allowed me to finish what I came to say, and so therefore; if anyone will be responsible for the death of our winter lady, I say it be you!" Her voice cracked, and her face reddened. Her eyes became irritated, tears threatening the edges of her eyes. Without thinking, her hand flew up, and did the **_unthinkable_**.

Lithoniel had slapped the Elvenking. Hard.

"You will **not** speak to me that way." Thranduil growled at her, finding his fingers wrapped tightly around her throat. Lifting her off her feet, her back hit the wall. With his other hand, he had hold of the hand she'd slapped him with.

"You will not berate me in my own chambers, _healer_. You speak as if you have the authority over me, when I can see through the terror in your eyes, you know it to be otherwise. If it were not for the sensitivity of this matter, I would not hesitate to kill you or throw you back in your cell personally." His fingers gradually loosened on her throat, letting her down. His eyes still locked onto hers. "Now. I suggest, you tell me what else you came to say - before I lose my temper with you, half-breed."

Lithoniel rubbed her throat, her eyes closed tightly. Had Lithoniel not grown so fond of Faeariel, and so concerned for her well-being, she would have stormed out of the room. King or not, she abhorred the way he spoke to her. In her mind, he was quickly becoming no more worthy of being a king than an old forest toad.

Lithoniel cleared her throat, looking up at him. Her dirtied curls hung loose in her face, only adding to her angered expression. Gathering herself, she sighed, and looked at him instead with a very tired look of compassion..almost. It came to mind, that he treated her this way, because he knew no other way to show how the situation involving Faeariel was affecting him. While she didn't find that this excused him fully, she tried her best to calm the situation. After all, she was a healer. And it was foremostly, a healer's job to heal things.

"My lord.." she sighed softly, taking hold of his hand. Her change of action drew a look of mixed confusion to his face. He truly did not understand her. She was bold enough to yell at him. To slap him, even. Yet; Lithoniel would also make attempts to settle things, in spite of how horridly he'd spoken to her.

"I can see you are worried. You need not hide it in front of me." she looked up to him, offering the tiniest of smiles to him. "..My intentions in coming here tonight were not to upset you, nor were they to rid you of any hope for her recovery. My lord, I can assure you: I have done _everything_ within my power to help her. She is not getting any better. So no..I am sorry..there is nothing more that **I** can do." she frowned, chewing her lower lip. "But, there is someone I do know of who can help her. You simply must hurry though - her condition is only growing worse. I fear for her greatly. Please, I beg of you. If you care for her as much as I suspect you do, you must, _must_ take her to Lothlórien. The only hope for our Winter Lady - is the Lady of Light.."

****  
There was a storm beginning outside. Unlike the storms before where they were of winter and snow, this storm was dark and made it look as if the heavens themselves were weeping in despair. It would be a dangerous business, leaving in a storm like this. With no other choice than the one at hand, the only thing the king could do was to ride swiftly but with great attention to his surroundings.

"I have brought her wings.." A soft spoken young maiden stepped up, holding the heavy things as carefully as she could. She had been among the younger elves that Faeariel spent so much time with, and she wished now to give back by doing her part to try to save her.

"...Thank you, child." Thranduil murmured, his brows furrowed as he fixed the wings to his horse, ensuring they would not fall off nor become more damaged than they already were. He stood impatiently then, by his white horse. A mare, by the name Winterfall, coincidentally. She had been born the last day of winter, but during the time of most snow. Hence her name, Winterfall. The mare sensed his worry and whinnied, rubbing her nose on his shoulder. This gave him some comfort, though not much. He was too busy wishing Lithoniel would hurry up and bring Faeariel to him. She would be needed to help secure her once she arrived, and it was only getting later. He wanted to avoid any wandering orcs or giant spiders that may come about, as much as possible.

"I am sorry it took me so long.. I wanted to be sure to check her wounds just once more before she left.." Lithoniel said, clearly out of breath from her rush to get Faeariel prepared for their journey. She held her bridal style, doing her best to keep her in a position that wouldn't further harm her.

Another reason it had taken Lithoniel so long, was that aside from the fact Faeariel was supposed to be kept in lighter clothing to avoid too much heat, she had put a longer dress on her, and a cloak to keep out too much of the rain. She had trouble in finding her shoes, so she took some of her own boots and stuffed bandages in them so they would fit on Faeariel's feet.

"I wanted to be certain no further harm would come to her.." Lithoniel frowned tentatively, before remembering. "Here, I did pack this for you both as well. There should be enough food and water in it..as well as extra clothing should you need it. " Carefully shouldering off the bag, she fixed it to the side of Winterfall's saddle. The mare whinnied and snorted, sniffing and nibbling at Lithoniel's hair. This drew a small smile to her face. In this pressed time, she needed something to brighten her spirits. No matter how silly it was.

Thranduil nodded to her, his expression still devoid of any emotion. Having made sure he was ready himself, he turned and climbed up on Winterfall's back. Once he was situated, Lithoniel stepped closer and slowly lifted Faeariel up to him. He seated her in front of him, pulling her close and wrapping an arm around her waist so that she would not fall.

"In my absence, I will leave you in charge.." Thranduil stated, looking down at Lithoniel, who looked at him in confusion almost. With the fact that they had gotten in such a horrible fight earlier, and given the fact that she knew he disliked her more than a cat disliked water; Lithoniel had a hard time swallowing what he had just said to her.

"You wish to leave your kingdom in my care?" Lithoniel repeated slowly, petting Winterfall's muzzle. Raising an eyebrow, she looked off to the side. "Would not it be better, to leave your land in care of your son? Surely, you trust him more than I."

A look of what seemed to be annoyance, and a desire to leave swiftly crossed the Elvenking's face. "My _son_ , is not here. He has left, presumably to chase off what was left of the Orc pack that was at the river.." he looked off to the side, then back to Lithoniel.  "Anyone... who is bold enough to slap the face of the king.. Is capable enough to care for his people in his absence." With a nod in her direction, he was off.

Lithoniel shielded her eyes from the dust whipped up by  Winterfall's hooves. She sighed, crossing her arms close to her. Chewing her lower lip, she shook her head and set off to see what needed to be done. She was used to being in charge of a room of healers. Not a whole kingdom of wood elves.

This was going to be anything but an easy task. Not every elf in Mirkwood would take so kindly to taking  orders from a healer who was half _human_.

_If only..they could all be so sweet, as the young Hobbit who knew nothing about her, and had set her free anyway.._

_****_  
The journey to Lothlórien would not be an easy one. The route had to be meticulously decided and thought out to the fullest. Nothing could go wrong, elsewise there was a very great chance that his venturing out would be for naught.

From his halls, he would have to find a way to avoid the spiders that may still be brooding about, he would need to make sure they stayed entirely clear of Dol Guldur, and, on top of it all: Thranduil would have to make certain their route was a swift one. He could feel her fading in his arms, and it only made his resolve that much stronger. How could he call himself "The Great King of the Greenwood," if he could not complete such a simple mission? The travel was not simple - far from it. In his mind though, he held himself above all to an almost unreachable standard. If he were to fail this task, he would feel no better than if he were never a king at all.

The rain pelted them in shrill, freezing sheets. This was good in dropping Faeariel's temperature, though not so good for the mare nor her owner. It was with such hard resolve to reach his destination, that the freezing water was ignored by the Elvenking. From where they were now, even in such darkness and amid such a storm, he could tell Lothlórien was not far off.

Already, he could hear a whisper softly entering his mind; the Lady of the Wood knew long before seeing him, that he was coming.

_"Something troubles you.."_

He gave no answer to her statement yet, only holding Faeariel all the closer to him. The road was getting rougher, now would be the worst time to let her fall. His gaze never faltered from the way ahead; one wayward glance could be far more than simply costly. Eventually though, he did give a muttered answer under his breath.

"I am not without reason..to be troubled.."

The Lady's  attentions turned towards the direction in which her visitors where coming from. She closed her eyes a moment, then frowned.

_"You carry something of great power..I have not seen the likes of it before.. What are you up to, Thranduil?"_

To this, he truly gave no answer. They were nearly there, the Lady would see soon enough what it was he had brought with him. He was not without feeling or impression that she may very well know already, and was simply asking him to see if he would be truthful with her. Such an inquiry against his aptitude for veracity, he was not particularly fond of, nor; did he find he appreciated it any more than he would have if Lithoniel had slapped him again. For being shorter than him, and not appearing to have that much force behind her hits - she had slapped him fairly harshly. If it were not for the flesh-numbing cold of the rain, he was sure he would have still felt the sting of her bold action.

In terms of boldness, it seemed that the half-elven healer and the full-blooded Elvenking were nearly very closely matched. While what Lithoniel had done was considered an offence on her part, what Thranduil was doing was considered an extreme abnormality. Both dangerous actions, though the latter carrying longer-lasting and far more more consequence than the first. Winterfall was having trouble continuing on, he could hear her ragged breathing and feel her heart pounding sporadically. If the mare were to be pushed to such harsh limits for much longer, it was likely she would pass out. The last bit of his trek would have to be on foot, leading Winterfall beside him. With that being said, he would have to be resourceful in finding a means to keep Faeariel from falling from the saddle without someone to hold her there.

Not the best thing in such a situation, he went with what he could find: that being a dead vine on the ground a few steps from where he stood.

Positioning her so her arms rest around Winterfall's neck, he loosely bound her wrists together, only tight enough to ensure she would remain put. That done, the last bit of the way seemed to take all the much longer. The land had become awash in mud and various debris, making each step he took more precarious than the last. The light growing steadily brighter in front of him was nothing if not an immense relief. Judging by what could be seen of the sky, it looked like morning was not far off. either way, one would have a hard way telling if morning were on its way, or just leaving. The storm had not let up since Thranduil set out to seek the help of Lothlórien's Lady of Light.

In knowing to expect his arrival, Galadriel stood ready to let him enter herself; she did not know why he had come, but she guessed that whatever it was that it should garner a personal appearance there from the Elvenking of Mirkwood - whom was well known for the fact that he hardly ever left the sanctity of his halls - it must be very _important_ indeed.

Upon his arrival to the gate, she looked to him in question. Searching his face, she looked to see if she could guess his purpose of being there that way. It was unusual to her to see him in such a state: covered in all manner of dirt and filth from travelling in the storm. it had been long since she had last spoken to him, though from her memory of him, she knew fairly well that Thranduil was almost always seen in full-blown grandeur. She knew as well as anyone to cross his path, that being covered in that much dirt and mud must be thoroughly bothering him. After all, it was to others' opinions aside from her own, that Thranduil was a known _diva_.

This aside, Galadriel slowly looked over to the slumped over figure sitting in the saddle of the not-so-sterling white mare he lead aside him. Her brows furrowed, and she stepped forward, going to lift her hood a bit. Her action, however, was stopped immediately when Thranduil grabbed her wrist. His gaze almost completely confirmed what she was thinking about the passenger. It was dark and alert - she could detect a hint of what seemed to be protectiveness as well.

"I have come seeking your aid, Galadriel. I would not have come, if I were not convinced that it was of absolute necessity. The help I seek, is something only you can provide."

****

"I do not know how you came across such a being, Thranduil. A power emanates from the woman like I have not seen before. In all my years...what is it that you think I can do for her?"

Galadriel looked over at Thranduil, both now standing within the safety of her halls. Faeariel had been laid in a room for the time being, Winterfall resting in the stables after being washed and fed by a few elves who had been going by when Winterfall was brought there.

" 'Power' has no meaning to _anyone_ , if it is failing. She is **dying** , can you not see that?" Thranduil frowned deeply, an edge to his voice that did not startle Galadriel in the least. She had heard it before, in the voices of those who had come to her in need before. People who were begging her to help save their loved ones, before it was too late.

It was far above him to beg outright, so he asked her in the only way he knew how to without giving away too much of what he was thinking.

"You care for her." Galadriel rose an eyebrow, her eyes searching his face again. His expression was hard set, though by the slight change she detected, she knew she was correct. She sighed softly, shaking her head. "I am unsure if I will be able to do anything for her. It depends on the severity of her wounds, and how far into death she has fallen." she pursed her lips, before adding "I shall see what I can do for her. I promise you no certainty of her waking - if anything, I would say you ought to expect to bury her soon." 

With that, Galadriel turned. She pointed down another hall, then looked to him over her shoulder. "There is a room prepared for you, down that hall. there should be a fresh bed, and clean clothing. Help yourself to what you wish." One final sigh escaped her lips as she turned, unable to look him in the eye any longer.

It was not unknown, the tragedy that had befallen the Elvenking's first and only bride, so very long ago. Many said they did not think he would ever learn to love again, so deep was his anger and grief. From the way she had seen the blue shift in his eyes, that was all she needed to be convinced otherwise. It had taken many years of loneliness and dwelling in anger, for him to finally find another. How deep, was his care for her? This, Galadriel could not say. All she knew, was that she would have to do whatever was within her power to help him. Even masked with reality and a refusal to show emotion, Galadriel knew an injured soul when she saw one.

The sound of her own thoughts, and the echo of her bare footsteps, were all that accompanied Galadriel on her way to see the wounded woman. Had she been able to speak to the woman, perhaps her feelings would have been different. In her eyes, something that was unknown to her may very well pose a danger to them all. It was to her assumption that what she was doing could be a mistake - in the guise of preserving what little bit of light still resided in a broken friend's heart. As much as it may hurt him to hear it, it was to Galadriel's thinking that she may bade him not to become too overly fond of the female. It would bring him nothing but pain if he did, and then was not able to keep her.

This was something that she had seen time and again, it always ended the same.

With one or the other lover dead. In rare instances:

_both of them._

****

Her arrival to the room which Faeariel lay waiting inside drew a hitch to Galadriel's throat. she hesitated at the door, before silently entering. She was not ready for what she saw when she entered - not by far.

Laying in the bed was a small figure. Not much bigger in frame than what Galadriel thought a child may be, she was much more frail-looking now than before. Her skin was a deathly grey against the white sheets, a few of her veins having gone dark as well, mostly in her cheeks and neck. The amount of pain she felt radiating from the younger woman hit Galadriel like a ton of bricks. How in the world Faeariel still lived, was far beyond her. She was fading quickly, but seemed to be fighting to stay there. A fight fought with each breath taken in, each more harsh than its preceding one.

Steeling herself and clearing her mind, Galadriel went about the business of first cleaning Faeariel up, she brought a bowl of water over to the bed and set it down. Going to wipe off her face, Galadriel was hit with a huge wave of memory from Faeariel. It stole her breath away, breaking her heart, and yet at the same time furthering her belief the relationship she believed Thranduil wanted with this woman should never be. What she saw of the almost twice destruction of the Greenwood, was a potential danger to all of Middle Earth and everyone in it.

For a moment, she hesitated. If by saving this woman she condemned the rest of the land, would it be worth it? Would there be any way to remedy it if the whole of Middle Earth were covered in such a horrible winter? Questions swirled around in her mind, as her gaze slowly feel back upon Faeariel. She was so young, she deserved to live as well as did everyone else - did she not?

It was with reluctance that Galadriel shook her head and went back to her work. She would later have the woman look into the mirror pool to examine her fate. It was not up to Galadriel that she should not continue to live based upon her fears. All she could do, was give Thranduil her counsel on the matter. If she were wrong, she were wrong. Even though she did have a very strong feeling otherwise.

In knowing his nature, she was almost certain it would be a waste of her time and his, to try to warn him of her fears. Most assuredly, it was more likely than anything else; Thranduil would do whatever he saw fit to do, and would reap his consequences on his own.

With her decision made for the time, Galadriel finished her business of cleaning Faeariel up. It would be much better for her, should she be clean when Galadriel tried to heal her wounds. The current process was a slow one, but was nothing compared to the healing process to come.

First, she would have to assess what would need her most attention, and go from there. Out of all the wounds, it looked to her that the lacerations and open wounds on Faeariel's back were what she needed to make the quickest effort at. With those healed, it looked as if the rest would not be as hard to accomplish as she had thought at first glance.

Mid-way through taking care of the wounds to her back, Galadriel traced her finger along her fragile skin. It was becoming more and more apparent - something had been cut from her back. Rather forcefully at that.

_But what?_

It wasn't until then, that the bundle sitting in the other side of the room caught her eyes. Cautiously, she pulled it open. What she saw when she opened it, was what may have been the biggest, most beautiful set of wings she had ever seen. Gradually, she made the connection. She was back to her square one idea that this was going to be easier said than executed.

With this new revelation, she knew she would be busy for the better part of this day. In a slightly amusing hindsight, this would at least give ample time for both Winterfall and Thranduil to rest. The horse, she was sure, would enjoy it much more than her impatient master.

****  
Sleep did not come easy to the Elvenking. Not that it had since the loss of his wife, but it seemed worse now than before. No matter how nice the bed, he could not seem to get comfortable. The clothing provided him was equally as nice as the bed, but likewise did not seem to bring him any comfort.

He had long since forgotten what it was like to be a guest in someone else's home. The hospitality of Lothlórien was almost unmatched, and the food was divine. What he could manage to get himself to eat of it, anyway. Under any other circumstance, he was certain he would have found much more enjoyment in his stay. Right now though, there was only one thing on his mind. The very thing, that disturbed now even his dreams as well as his waking thoughts. For Thranduil, the news regarding Galadriel's work could not come soon enough.

Although, something within him told him that her news would not come free of counsel. Her attitude earlier told him as much, and it unsettled him. He could only guess what she would have to say to him.

His wait for the news dragged on, long throughout the day. In this time, he never once left his room - or even his bed. Without his knowledge, he was being made to wait longer than need be, simply because Galadriel wanted to give Faeariel longer to rest before having company.

Around the ninth hour of the evening, there came a soft knock to the door. The news he had been awaiting for most of the day, had finally come.

He opened the door slowly, raising an eyebrow in question.

"I bear hopeful news, my lord.." The young elf started, offering a soft smile. In Galadriel's place, he had been sent to retrieve the king. "Your lady lives, you may see her if you will follow me." The news delivered at last, a huge weight was knocked off of Thranduil's chest. The only response he could conjure up was a nod, as he then followed the younger male elf from his room and down through the halls. With his wandering about her condition gone, his mind turned instead to wishing only to see it for his own eyes.

As if an angel, Faeariel lay now in peace on her bed. A new one, as the other had to be cleaned now.

Gone now was the sickly grey from her skin, her true wintery tones were returning at last. Her long, ebony colored hair lay in pools around her, only serving to make her look all the more beautiful in the eyes of the king. She lay in the middle of the bed, her arms crossed just beneath her chest. Undisturbed, Faeariel bore great resemblance to a porcelain, or china doll.

Once he hit the door, the sight of her brought to him what he could only think of as great relief. She was alive - this was all that mattered. Silently, Thranduil made his way over to the bed, sitting just at the side. Almost as if he may be afraid that he may break her, his touch was light; carefully, he brushed a few dark strands out of her face. Never before, had he been so happy to see someone. This feeling, was one he could not describe.

Almost as soon as he came to her room, it seemed he thought it best if he should leave. To let her rest.. To perhaps rest himself, now knowing she safely lived and was no longer falling so deep into death's hold.

Just as he had turned, thinking to go, the silence was shattered by a heart wrenching, terrified shriek. Being as the last thing she remembered was the pain and horror she had suffered at the hands of the orcs, this was the first thing to come to her mind when she woke up so suddenly. Where she was did not register, nor did the fact that she was no longer alone in the room. She shook in fear, sobs wracking her body. It was hard to understand quite what she was saying, though it seemed to be a mix of 'they took them, they took them, they're gone,' and her begging for help, possibly to the last elf she remembered seeing - the one responsible for all of this.

Anger towards the treacherous one who had sold out someone whom he had no quarrel with, broiled in Thranduil's veins. Even to someone who had hardened himself from things such as compassion or the likes of it, the state of the Winter Lady was near unbearable to listen to.

Having himself been so concerned for her ailing condition, and whether or not she would recover, Thranduil found himself turning back towards her bed. Sitting beside her, and pulling her close in effort to quiet her tears.

So upset was she, that she readily accepted his silent offer. Curling close to him, and burying her face in his chest. She felt bad, for ruining his shirt with her tears, though she could not help it. It felt odd to him, allowing someone so close to him. It reminded him very much of a time long before now. Long before he were a king, or his bride wed to him. They had simply been friends then. She with her tender heart, would often come to him for comfort. More often than not, they would sit for hours with her pulled close to him, her head resting on his chest, and his arms resting around her in attempt to comfort her. It had happened more than once, that she had fallen asleep on him, and he would have to carry her home.

The way he was sat with Faeariel now, felt not much different. Her tears were significantly colder, this was the one thing that he did notice. He remained silent however, until he heard what she said begin to change to blaming herself for what had happened to her. This drew his attention immediately, and he shifted so he could look her in the eyes. Cupping her cheeks in a gentle but firm manner, he shook his head.

"You are not to blame. Do you understand?" His tone carried a bit of authority, though was softer than usual. "Regardless of what may of happened in the past, you are not at fault." His brows furrowed, and he wiped away a few of her tears with his thumb.

"I am the one who left on my own.. It was my decision to go," Faeariel started, her voice low. She frowned, looking down a bit. "If I had not-" she was silenced suddenly, by the pressing of his lips to hers. Her face lit up a bright red, though it did quiet her. When released, she looked at him wide green eyes. That was never something she would have expected, if anything she thought it confined to fleeting daydreams and passing thoughts.

Pulling back from her, he brushed some of her hair behind her ear and rest his forehead to hers. His eyes locked with hers.

"I'll be damned if I let you blame yourself.."

His voice lowered, so only she could hear him. She still did not know how to respond to him, she had no idea how she was even supposed to feel. Finally, she swallowed lightly, and nodded.

"..Very well.." She whispered, chewing at her lower lip. She looked up at him, as if to say something. Though she was stopped once more, when he spoke first.

"... I have something.. I have been meaning to speak with you about.."

Faeariel blinked, wondering what it could be. She had been unconscious for quite awhile - had she done something while she was out, that she was unaware of? Worry filled her features, a small frown turning the corners of her lips downward.

"Did I do something I am not aware of..? If I have harmed someone, I am sorry.. I truly did not mean to.." She paused, then bit her lip. "...Did I freeze the kingdom again..?" Her voice cracked lightly, her concern and beginning paranoia becoming more and more clear.

Her questions seemed to amuse him, as he said nothing, but shook his head and gave her a half smile. "You speak so much, for someone who is supposed to be recovering." Confusion filled Faeariel's face, as if she understood now even less than she had before.

To help ease her wondering, Thranduil leaned in a bit closer to her.

"..Let me show you..what it is I wish to speak with you about.."

****

His tone with her was different then.  Lower, softer in nature, and almost _sensuous_ in a way. His words sent a shiver up her spine, and heated her face up again for reasons she was uncertain of. She wished desperately to ask him what he meant, fearing it may be some kind of trouble. What she got instead, was as much a surprise  to her as it would be to anyone else who were to hear about it. Or to him as well, even.

She felt his lips again meeting hers. This time, slower and with more need fueling it. As inexperienced as she was with this, Faeariel only made a clumsy guess at what she was supposed to do in response. This did not seem to bother him in the least.

To make it easier on both her, and him; he slowly leaned her back until she was beneath him, and he above her. Not knowing what else to do with her hands, Faeariel lightly held to the front of his shirt. It took her time, though she learned to ease into her responses; at times, Thranduil was quite sure he could hear a soft purring coming from her. She truly was an odd being.

It did not take long for their "conversation" to escalate. Innocent kisses became more sinful actions, ones done to draw from her the sounds he so longed to hear. The 'talk' he was having with her was slow moving. So as not to scare her, since she had never been with anyone on her own accord. He began with running his hand slowly up her thigh, to see how she would react.

Her face turned a very heated red of course - though she didn't seem distressed, so he continued. This is where the true sin would begin. With a light rubbing of her thigh, slowly moving upwards.

Faeariel was nervous, her body tensing every so often when she was uncertain of something or someway she had responded. She was calmed each time by a soft string of kisses along the side of her neck, or gentle rubbing to her side.

Needless to say, when time came down to it, she was very hard to calm. She was disgusted with herself, and so hated for him to see her so exposed. She kept trying to hide, and had to be coaxed back out before the real event of the night could begin. When she relaxed herself enough to allow further actions, the both learned something about her then, that neither had been aware of.

For someone with such a soft voice, she could be very **_loud_**.

 


	14. Dreams in the Mirror

The next morning was as if a dream. He held in his arms what appeared to be a sleeping beauty from another place entirely. For once, she looked peaceful in her sleep. No nightmares of terrible events or kidnappings to haunt her; Faeariel had only sweet things to dream of on this night. She lay curled up at his side, her arms wrapped around him and her cheek pressed against his chest. Even in her sleep, a soft, rosy blush graced her pale features. A smile crossed her lips, and every so often there would come from her a very soft purr or sigh. It seemed that she was more than happy, where she currently was.

It was only for a moment, that he had looked away from her. In that time, she had woken enough to take notice of something that he hadn't: In being so relaxed here, he had all but entirely forgotten that he had a secret of which he wished to conceal from even her. His attention was elsewhere, as were his thoughts.

In curiosity, and concern, Faeariel had reached up and lightly traced her fingers along the angry skin that was his scar. She tilted her head, frowning softly. Before she could think to say anything, he had grabbed her wrist and was looking at her with an old look of sudden anger. Even his first love, his bride, had known nothing of his scar. Not many did, and he preferred to keep it that way.

 **"Do** **not** **touch** **me."** He hissed, not fully realizing who it was he was speaking to. The scar began to disappear, and he let her wrist go. Turning from her, he rose from her bed; quickly dressing himself, he left without another word to her.

Without knowing what she did wrong, Faeariel sat in her bed alone, laying her head on her knees and curling into the blankets. It had not scared her, not really; if that were what he was thinking. If anything, she was curious. She did not mean to upset him - it was merely from her concern that she gave such attention to it.

Elsewhere, Thranduil had gone to find a place to be alone. It had crossed his mind more than once as he wandered the halls, that perhaps it was a mistake that he had even gone to her room. It crossed his mind only once, vaguely, that he should have left her to her fate in the hands of a healer who could not help her. It was a fleeting thought, quickly cast out in his disgust with it.

The Elvenking settled on a solitary corner in the gardens to think, his mind straining from stretching itself haplessly in so many directions. It was in the midst of his meditations, that he heard the softest change in the air. It was only the slightest disturbance, one he gave no attention to; he knew who it was that approached him.

"You have known her."

Her voice was plain, not accusatory; as one of the eldest elves in Middle Earth, there was not much that got past her without her knowledge, which was why he was not surprised she knew of his _affairs_.

"I have." He answered her placidly. He did not bother to turn to look at Galadriel; he felt no need to. Even if she were an elder, he was a king; why should he have to explain himself? His actions were his alone to decide. If he wanted to do something - there was a highly likely chance that he would do it, despite the ideas or thinkings of others.

"Do you think it wise, to be getting so close to her?" Galadriel rose a brow, running her fingers through the soft petals of a flower on a nearby tree.

"Why should I think it not?" Thranduil asked, his brows creasing in annoyance. Still, he kept his back to her.

"There are reasons that you cannot understand - things that may come to pass that cannot be easily undone. Even though you may be king of only one realm, you _must_ also think of the safety of the **rest** of Middle Earth."

He was silent a moment, his irritance becoming hard to conceal. "What has this to do with her? If anything, she is an unstable force - but not a threat. To me, to you, or to anyone else who lives in this wretched world." His tone became more cutting, his jaw set hard in his rising frustration.

Galadriel ignored his tones, saying nothing of them as if he were speaking to her with the utmost respect. As she made her way towards him, her own voice took on a presence of seriousness.

"If you will not take heed to my warning, Elvenking; if you continue to refuse to listen to my counsel, and turn to me for help only to later receive my words with deaf ears; I cannot say I will feel sorry for you if the worst should come to pass."

"I did not come in need for your _guidance_ , Galadriel. Nor did I come seeking anyone 'feeling sorry' for me.  I came in need of your help. You have done what I asked, for that you have my gratitude. All I ask now, is that you allow me to make my decisions on my own, and in my own way." Thranduil snapped, gritting his teeth in irritation.

To this, Galadriel became much more cold - something most unusual for her. "Thranduil. You _cannot_ ignore a potential threat to our people! The only reason I did as you asked was in hopes to convince you to send her away, if you truly cared for her so much. It is more than evident that she cannot even protect herself, much less anyone else. What use to us is such a person, who will do nothing but endanger us?" The uncharacteristic light left her eyes. She sighed, turning from him. "You must listen to reason, Thranduil."

"Reason." Thranduil shook his head at her in disgust. "If I were to adhere to the same callus 'reason' that drives you, you would have me live the rest of my life in misery. Over a thousand years, I have been alone. Is this truly what you would suggest to me? To send away the one light to appear in my enduring darkness, to forget ever meeting her. All for the sake, that you believe her to be a threat." Thranduil shook his head, pinching between his eyes. He sighed slowly. His anger had driven away even the mask of calmness that he had so carefully crafted over the years.

"Dear lady.. I will admit, you try my patience nearly so as the healer I left in authority in my absence. However.. I know you do speak truth, even if only partly so. I can assure you, despite how things may appear. Faeariel is no danger to Middle Earth. It may do this horrid land some good to be frozen solid for awhile." Flashing her a smirk, he turned and was off again; Galadriel watched his retreating figure with a frown. Her concerns were heavy, and yet he treated them as if they were folly.

She sighed deeply, thinking on it. There was but one way she knew to get the safety of her people, and everyone else, ensured. It was not specifically something she would enjoy, though she knew it may be the only way.

She would have to speak with the girl herself.

****

Far be it from Faeariel's knowledge the reason why Thranduil had pushed her away after their 'conversation' the previous night, she still managed to go about her morning business. The clothing here was much lighter in make and in color than those that she had worn in the woodland kingdom.  She found the change to be a nice one, especially since the back left room for her newly-restored wings. Faeariel had never thought she could miss a part of herself so much, that was; until she lost it.

How Galadriel had done it, she had no idea. All she knew, was that she would be eternally grateful to the Lady of Light.

Time and again, Faeariel ran her fingers through the dark feathers of her wings. Almost, as if she were trying to reassure herself that they were still there; that her wings were no longer severed, and laying in river mud.  The softness that greeted her fingertips was welcoming, calming, and brought a soft smile to her face.

She was torn, whether to leave her hair down and do nothing to it, or to attempt an intricate braided hairstyle she'd once seen on an elven woman at a celebration in the kingdom. It looked beautiful, though it also looked as if it would take hours to accomplish with a practiced hand. Much less, those of a novice. She imagined that may double the time, honestly.

In her indecision, Faeariel turned and flopped down on the bed, sighing softly. She closed her eyes, dozing off a bit. Content and safe in her surroundings, it would not be long before she fell asleep.

Like Faeariel, there were others who seemed to have daydreaming problems. Albeit not as safe in his surroundings as Faeariel; the hobbit was as susceptible to dozing off as she.

It would not be long, before he would have to sneak in to face the dragon, to show he could be the burglar he signed up to be. Unfortunately for Bilbo, the light filtering through the treetops began to remind him of the warm light he felt when speaking to the female elf he'd freed in the dungeons. He could remember how her eyes shined. For someone who had been locked away for so long, she had been so quick to thank him. So quick, to smile at him and to hug him - to kiss his forehead.

As he absently ran his fingers along the pendant from Lithoniel's necklace, he wondered if he would ever see her again. He knew he would never be seeing his button again, though this didn't bother him. Bilbo chuckled softly, shaking his head. He had so many buttons, so many vests; how many necklaces like that did Lithoniel have?

In his daydream, or, rather; in the dream he was beginning to have, he imagined to be sitting beside her in a garden. It wasn't later in Autumn, as it was where he now sat. By the warmth, he suspected it to be Spring, or early Summer. She was looking off to the side, pointing out things and asking about them. As she'd never been to the Shire before, she had many questions. Of course, having a great love for his home, Bilbo was more than happy to explain to her all that she wished to know. 

After awhile, he came to asking her about the necklace. Her response, was that it had come from her mother. Or, someone whom she had very much felt like was her mother. She went on to explain to him things about her life, and her time in Mirkwood. Among the things she told him, was one of her greatest secrets: she was not a purebred elf.

Lithoniel did not get the time to tell him what she was instead; Bilbo's dreams came to a halt when he was jarred awake by Kili and Fili, who had come to wake him - though now were teasing him for the rosy red that was beginning to cross his cheeks.

****

Fortunately for Faeariel, she was not woken from her dreaming by the pestering of dwarfish princes with an aptitude for teasing people.

Instead, she was woken by the softest of knocks to her door.

 _"How long have I slept..?"_   she questioned herself softly, her brows creased as she rubbed one of her eyes. She made sure to smooth out and straighten any wrinkles in her dress before answering the door. She was still trying to brush her hair back into place, as she peered out the door. Standing at the door when Faeariel opened it, was a young male elf. He smiled at her warmly, even giving a slight bow.

"M'lady, Galadriel wishes to speak with you..if you would be so kind as to follow me..?"

He was a lot younger than many of the other elves, she realized this by how kind he was being with her. That- and he just seemed to be rather new to..whatever his job was.

"Of course," Faeariel nodded to him, offering a soft smile as she stepped out of her room. Closing the door behind her, she turned to the young elf.

"This way," the young male nodded to her, turning to lead her to where the Lady Galadriel awaited her.

It was a secret place, somewhat like a garden. There was a small, clear blue waterfall, and what appeared to Faeariel to be some kind of small basin or bowl of some kind. Perhaps, it may even resemble things made up for birds to wash up or play in. What it was actually for, Faeariel could only guess.

Around the basin, there was an area where trees grew in, along with other foliage and flowers which combined to conceal the area. Either way, Faeariel found the place to be beautiful. Not nearly so, as the woman whom had called for her.

In this light, Galadriel looked even more beautiful and more surreal than she had to Faeariel the first time that they met.

"Welcome, child.." Galadriel said softly, not needing to turn around to know that Faeariel was there. She let a soft smile, though her lips were pressed tightly together. Galadriel turned to face her slowly, nodding to her and motioning for her to come forwards.

Faeariel did so, a flickering look of curiosity on her face. She thought to ask why she had been asked there, yet did not think it wise to question Galadriel's purpose. She was sure, in time, she would be told.

"Come closer, towards the mirror." she stated, looking up at Faeariel only once as she poured water from the waterfall into the stone basin. "..The mirror has many things to show you.." her voice dropped, and she backed away into shadow, observing Faeariel in silence.

****

Never before had doing as she was told brought her such pain. It was as if she could feel everything, and nothing at the same time. If the mirror spoke truth, then perhaps she should leave.

The mirror had at first, shown her only things she had experienced since arriving in the woodland realm. She saw the children she had watched, the horses she helped care for, a few faint glimpses of Lithoniel, and lastly; Faeariel had seen images of her time with Thranduil. For the moment, only her few happy moments with him.

Then things changed. She saw the first winter she had caused, and what it had done to the people she had come to love so much. How tasking it was to revive her the first time, what it cost them. She saw the miscarrying of the child she didn't remember; the second, and worse winter to follow it. From that winter, the mirror shifted on. It took her to a place far across the Sundering Sea. A place that she held no present memory of, as many of her memories had still yet to return.

It was not a happy place, though she felt as if it were where she had come from; as if it where she belonged, and where she should be now. It was dark, and cold. The kind of cold that _did_ bother her. She saw herself locked away in a stone room, one with but a single window of which she could look out - though only through the bars that ensured she could not escape. She saw a man, one she immediately felt resentment toward. As the mirror revealed, he was the cause for her existence. Faeariel understood now, why she had not remembered having a name. She had never had a name to begin with.

Her stay was long, and held no company for her save for the few birds who thought to take residence in her tower. Every so often, the man would come to her, to check on her abilities. He wanted to create something powerful, something unlike anyone had ever seen before. The abilities he had given her were only but a select few, though. When he came to call on her, he would often discover she could do things she couldn't before. This angered him, and often resulted in a backhanding and a relenting of food provision. His thinking, was perhaps he could control her more if she grew weaker. More power for her, meant she might be able to one day escape.

She was not the dumb creature he supposed her to be.

As Faeariel watched the images in the mirror, she saw what appeared to be herself at the window. Her hands were on the bars; the bars were quickly becoming coated in a thick frost, one that she seemed to be creating. Eventually, when the bars would not shatter from the cold, she saw herself do something she had not remembered being able to do. She had used some kind of a magic force to bend the frozen bars until they broke, then tossed them across the room. However she had done it, it seemed to have taken a lot out of her. She had slumped over by the window, and her nose was bleeding down her chin.

Her escape seemed much more dangerous than one would have thought, particularly her crossing of the sea, which; the mirror was not very clear on the manner of which she had done so. Everything else was to follow - up until the event that she did remember most clearly. The day she had tried to buy a horse, yet did not have enough to pay for it.

She had had to leave from then on foot, going anywhere she could to be as far as she could away from the place that she had come from. Having been locked up for so long, she knew nothing of the dangers of Orc packs nor the vast, _creative_ cruelty of their minds. She learned quickly, as this was the cause for her sate when discovered by the great elk, Noroth, and his master, the Elvenking.

From then on, the mirror veered to things that had not yet come to pass. She saw a wasteland of ice and snow, where many fields of lush green grass and many wildflowers had once grown. The woods were in no better condition, nor were those who had once lived there. She stood in what looked to be the remnants of a battle, with only the hollow sound of wind to greet her ears. From here, she was taken to what appeared to be the headstone left for her stillborn child. Beside it, it had another stone. The writing was fresher, and clearer to read.

_"A second child..? I birthed a second...His child..?"_

Before she could make any sense of what she had seen, she was taken to a place in the fallen northern boarders of the wood.

Far from where she stood, she saw something that struck her harder than any of the rest of it. She saw a wounded, frostbitten, Legolas, sitting with his equally frozen and dying father. Faeariel could see herself coming closer to them, trying to reach out, yet she was always a step off. She could see, but could not touch. From where he had sat with his father, she saw Legolas turn to her, and curse her for existing. The anguish on his face as he told her again and again that she should have never came there, or that he wished he'd done away with her when he'd had the chance, was too much to bear.

The sides of the basin had frozen, and her hurried footsteps leaving behind a trail of icy prints. She now hid herself away, curled up away from anyone else, seated on the stone steps in a garden. Surrounded by nothing but plants from the forest, she felt safe enough to allow herself to weep. And weep, she did. Sobs that shook her recovering self, wracking her with tears that caused her pale face to gain color only grief could bring to one so fair.

She was coming to the quick conclusion, that she had to stop any of those things from happening. She could not allow so much death to be brought at her hands' doing. Faeariel loved the people of the Greenwood far too much to allow herself to be the cause of their-or anyone else's-demise. Unfortunately, her conclusion only caused her to weep again. She saw only two ways of sparing the world her destruction. She could go back to where she came from, and hope the person who had created her would be merciful, or; she could end her own suffering as well as any future pain she may bring to anyone else. Her second conclusion, might be easier than the first. On her way through the halls earlier that morning, she had come across a small dagger which seemed to have been lost by one of the elves. While her first thought was that she should find the owner and return it, she was getting other ideas now.

 ** _Ideas_** , which were becoming more and more appealing the longer that she sat there.

****

She did not want to be found, not soon. She went out further from her place in the gardens, hiding away behind taller plants. With her, she took the elven dagger she had found. The one, which the male elf who led her to see Galadriel had said she could keep until the owner was found; giving it back to the one who owned it was now the very last thing on her mind. Faeariel turned it in her hands, her clouded eyes scanning it's detail. She felt it to be a great shame, that she was going to stain it with her blood.

After a moment of contemplation, she turned the blade towards herself and closed her eyes. It was difficult, prepping herself for what she was getting ready to do. She swallowed roughly, then went to plunge the blade into the center of her chest.

Instead of the fatal piercing of an elven blade - Faeariel felt a grip on her wrist with a force behind it so angry, she thought it may break her wrist in half.

He had been looking for her all day. It had been in the back of his mind, only surfacing every so often. Just enough times for him to realize that was what he had been doing.

When he finally found her, he found himself thanking the stars that he had such swiftness as an elf. That, and he found that he was not simply angry with her, but _enraged_.

 ** _"What do you think you're doing?"_**   He thundered, the sound of the dagger falling to the ground lost to the sheer power of his voice. He spun Faeariel around to face him, a tight grip on both of her wrists. The furious eyes of the Elvenking searched her surprised and trembling features.

Under the weight of his gaze, Faeariel broke. Her eyes filled with tears, and she shrunk to the ground, shaking her head. Her face was hidden by her hair, and whatever it was that she was trying to tell him, was lost in her sobs. Though she'd tried to pull away from him for fear of hurting him in some way, his hold on her was so tight that her movements made little to no difference at all.

Finally; he grew to be so weary of watching her weep and receiving nothing but incoherent babbling, that he released her wrists and picked her up, without so much as a word.

****

A simple stone cold glare from Thranduil silenced any questioning glance from passing elves. No words had passed between he and Faeariel since he found her, though he was still very angry with her.

Shutting the door behind him after he entered Faeariel's room, he sat her on her bed. She had cried herself to the point where she could barely breathe, so she sat on the edge of the bed wiping her eyes and gasping for the air she so desperately needed.  Once she calmed enough to where she could breathe without choking herself, Thranduil took hold of her jaw and made her look at him.

"I will ask it of you only _once_ more, Faeariel. Tell me the reason for your foolish behavior."

His icy blue eyes bored into hers, forcing her to hold gaze with him. She bit her lip, sniffling a few times before she tried to answer him.

"..I thought..you didn't want me to touch you.." she started, looking away. Looking back to him, she saw his expression tighten. As if he were asking her _'You were going to end your life, because of that?'_ She swallowed, then continued.  "I am a danger to you. I am a danger to your son - to your entire kingdom." She shook her head, lowering her head when he released her chin.

"Twice, I have frozen your home. How much more damage will I have done..by the time you decide to end me yourself? I would be doing you a great favor.." Faeariel's voice cracked, and she began to cry again. Her lower lip trembled, she did not want to tell him what the mirror had shown her. She had no intentions of doing so, though she gave it away when he heard her mumble something about 'not wanting to go back.'

"I have given you a home. One you claim to love so much you would end your life to keep it safe from yourself. And yet, you say you do not wish to return?" The Elvenking rose a single dark brow, his voice no less flat nor his expression any less frustrated than before. It was a thing almost unheard of, where he had chosen to sit. Instead of bring over a chair or sit alongside the mess of a woman which he spoke to, Thranduil, despite all his pride and regality, and hate for dirt or filth; had taken seat on the floor, and was looking up at her. His chin propped on his hands; his elbows resting on his crossed legs.

Seeing this when she looked up from her own lap startled Faeariel into silence instead of an answer. This was not something she had ever expected to hear of, much less see, him do. Blinking her shock away, knowing he would soon grow impatient with her if she said nothing still, she shook her head quickly.

"No, no..you misunderstand me.." She said, swallowing again roughly as she wiped at her eyes. "I.. I worry I am a danger to your kingdom.. My home.. I would give anything to return if I could.. I meant.. I do not want to return to my old home. I have taken residence in only one other place, where I was dressed as a princess to be paraded around for show...though was locked away and lived otherwise as a prisoner who mattered no more than a breadcrumb lost from a plate of a rich man.." Her voice cracked and for a moment, became bitter. Her eyes filled with hate as she looked the king in the eye. The mirror had broken her, but had also hastened the return of some of her memories. None of which, were good.

"...I was a pet. Created for the purpose only of being a treasure to gloat about, I believe the man who created me thought to sell me. I am not sure of it.. Though I remember if I did not do what he desired, I would receive a beating.. He was relentless. He had no more care for my life than the owner of the horses which I tried to speak with.." She looked away again, even her wings tensed visibly now. "He thought to starve me, to teach me to behave his way... That is when I escaped.." Faeariel's voice softened almost to a complete whisper, as she continued.

"I almost wish.. For the sake of yours and your people's safety... I had stayed where I belonged.. For now that I have gone, I do not want to return.. It is the only other option I have, outside of death.." Her voice cracked again, and she began to cry once more. "Please.. You must let me die.. Either allow me to perish at my own hand or be merciful to me and do it yourself... I cannot.." She stopped, looking away. Her hair once again hid her face, as she made her best-though fruitless-attempt to cease her waterfall of tears. "I cannot be the cause of your doom.."

Her words made no sense to him, he had no idea where she was getting such silly ideas from. He did, however, know how she would remember so much about herself that she didn't know before. Despite his anger and rising frustration, the king kept himself calm enough to draw out from her the entire story. From the beginning, where she saw what had already happened, where she had learned where she had come from, and then finally what she had saw that had not come to pass.

It was a difficult business, being that she was still so upset by it that getting her to describe it was nearly impossible. The idea that she thought she may become with child a second time only to lose it as she did the first one, struck him as odd. Being that Faeariel was still so skiddish about being touched in a way that would garner a pregnancy, this would mean only one thing. If the mirror spoke truth, it would mean she would not simply be with child - but with _his_ child. It was not unheard of, a single time being all that was needed in order for a woman to bear a child. This was, in painful truth; how Faeariel had given birth to, and lost, her first born.

What struck him as most odd, was the idea that she thought she could be the cause of an entire _war_. If anything, Thranduil was certain it would be the foolish quest of the dwarves to return to their mountain, that may cause a war. The dragon lay dormant for so long, it was said taking back the mountain may be easier than not - though only if entrance could be gained to the mountain. Untold riches and wealth lay hidden away in the mountain, the envy of many for centuries.

While all he wished was to regain what belonged to him, he knew others would not be so simple in their desires.

"You do know," he sighed at last, now sounding more tired than anything. "That even the visions in the mirror, can be changed?" he asked, looking up at her as he pinched the bridge of his nose.

Faeariel looked up immediately. "It..can?" she blinked, her tears finally slowing. She wiped her eyes on her sleeve, biting at her lip as if she were uncertain.

"Yes..it can. And, it will." he nodded to her, slowly standing up from where he had sat for so long. "It will not be easy, though it is not impossible. I have heard of it being done before."

His words brought a sort of hope to her, one that settled her for but a moment, before her heartbeat began to hasten again. "The war... how do we stop that? I cannot fight..I was never taught how.." she frowned, squeezing her left forearm with her right hand - out of her returning nerves.

"If, and when, a war is caused; you will stay with your healer. You have no need to worry about it. All you have need to worry about, is learning to control whatever abilities you do have. Keep your focus there."

Faeariel frowned, the memory of what had been shown to her in the mirror flashing through her mind. Looking up at him, she shook her head. "No."

Her response caught him by a bit of surprise. He knew of only one person thus far who retained the brazen boldness to openly tell him no, to his face. Ordinarily, Thranduil would have handled it with the dealing out of some sort of punishment - as a king, he was used to doing so. Though he had no time to say anything, as she continued before he could; luckily for her, he had grown quite fond of her, so the thought to reprimand her was not as much an immediate thought as it had been in earlier days of their meeting.

"No," she repeated, swallowing and trying to sit up straighter, smoothing her skirt out as she did so. "I want to learn. I want you to teach me. Teach me how to fight..or I will go on my own accord, with or without your consent. I may not yet know how to fight, but I will **not** let you leave me behind like some mortal maiden awaiting the return of those whom she cares about, that may never come." She stood now, folding her arms and looking him square in the eyes.

 _"You would openly defy the orders of your king?"_ he asked her, his voice lowered to a tone which could chill the bones of even the most hardened warrior. His presence darkened, making her feel smaller. Faeariel could feel his grip on her shoulders tightening. It hurt her, but she persisted.

"I..I would. " she nodded, then set her jaw, trying to show she could be just as stubborn as he could. "I would. I would, and..I am." She affirmed her statement by trying not to flinch at his hold on her small shoulders.

"You do know, such behavior can have grave consequences. If you continue to insist this way, I may very well have to lock you in the dungeons when we return."

"As can the fate of a kingdom without its king, and without his heir to take his place. " her voice shook then, but she remained static in her stance of not being left behind. "And, if you do.. I will find my way out. I will follow your men, and then you will have no choice but to allow me to join you."

Her refusal to listen reminded him heavily of Lithoniel. He thought briefly, that perhaps the two females had spent too much time in one anothers' company; clearly, Lithoniel had been a bad influence on Faeariel. And yet, he could see it in her eyes. Her resolve was true, and so much like the way his first love's had been. The more time he spent with her, the more similarities he could see. He was uncertain, if it was a good thing or if it was a bad one. It was, as he knew, a distraction at times though.

A mix of anger and some other rising feeling broiled in his veins.

"Obstinate woman." he looked away from her, his expression hardening. If she were to leave on her own without knowledge of how to properly defend herself, and he was sure she would by how she was acting now; there was no doubt in his mind that that may very well be the day she dies - alone, and without his knowledge.

He exhaled, gritting his teeth together. There was no guarantee any fight or war would come. There very well may be nothing at all. If it would satisfy her and give her something to do aside from trying to reverse the work done to keep her alive, he figured there was no great harm in teaching her something. If it were to come to it, at least then she would not be without knowledge of how to fend off an attacker.

It took him time and heavy contemplation, before he finally relented. There were many things to consider, so he would still need to think about it at some point. For now, he looked back to her, a stern and serious look on his face.

"Very well. _You shall have your way._ But do not expect me to be easy on you - we begin first thing in the morning."


	15. Again

The early morning hours of the next day rang with cries of both 'again,' and 'harder;' mostly in the open areas of the woods. Trying to teach a woman in the ways of war was no easy task; at least, if said woman happened to be both very fearful and unlearned already in how to defend herself.

Her having wings, as well.. was not exactly very _helpful_ either. Especially with them having such a great size.

"I am trying to do it right, it would help me greatly..if you would simply stop shouting at me!" Faeariel frowned, swallowing roughly. The look on Thranduil's face caused her to immediately recoil, and add a whimpered "..P-please..?" afterwards.

" _You_ are the one who wished for me to teach you how to defend yourself." Thranduil stated, walking around her, a stony gaze of irritation and disapproval turning his features. "Yet now, you complain at me to go easier on you, when I told you last night that I would not. I told you, for this very reason; that I did not wish to go through this with you. There are some, who are made for this type of thing. And some, my _dear lady,_ who _are not._ " Thranduil stated, stopping before her. "Are you going to listen at last, to what I have told you? Or do you wish to again defy me and further waste your time and mine with it?"

Whether this question was a trick or not, Faeariel could only guess. She was uncertain what to say, and for the moment considering to be bold; to defy him once more. Not because she knew she could evidently now get away with it, but because she truly wished to do anything that she possibly could to prevent the vision that Galadriel had shown her - even if it meant that for the moment she would be angering her king and causing him to want nothing to do with her again, as he had when they first met. She knew fully well, the only reason she had been brought into his home at all that day, was because Noroth was the one to insist upon it. Had it not been for the great elk, she was certain she would not be standing her at this moment.

Ironically; it was the animal's defiance towards his master, that had enabled her to live to also be able to defy his commands.

When she could not answer his question, the cruel looking smirk he had once had before she had gotten to grow close to him returned. He turned from her then, and began to walk off towards the place where they had taken their temporary residence, not having any notion whatsoever to expect what it was that she would do next.

"Stop."

Her voice came with a frozen determination, an authority almost, to it. One like he had never heard her use before, and most assuredly _not_ on him. It was the sudden demand that she made, not so much her tone, that caused the Elvenking to cease his gait.

"I will.. I do wish to defy you again." she stated, her grip on the hilt of the sword she was borrowing from him becoming so tight that frost began to etch itself along the sides and up into the blade as well. She stood taller, her back stiff and her wings ridged; a look of semi-terrified determination set deeply on her usually frail face.

"I do.." she repeated, watching as Thranduil stood there, saying nothing, and with his back still towards her. "Not because of any wish to undermine your demands, though you may think it so. You think me obstinate for my actions; and I am. I am obstinate, because I refuse to be defenseless on my own anymore. I am obstinate, because I refuse to seen as weak any longer. And I am obstinate, _my dear king,_ because I believe the only way for me to learn - is for me to push you into it. You think you can do everything on your own, without help; with no aid whatsoever. You behave without fear, and that is another reason why I cannot.. no.. Why I will not let you leave this area until you teach me all that I want to know."

Her little speech seemed to have little affect on him, not until he turned around. Slowly, Thranduil turned to face her once more; a hard set look of something she could not yet discern on his face, as he began to approach her. Secretly, he was himself unsure of how to react to her sudden boldness. Such actions from anyone else would have only enraged him, nothing more. For Faeariel to finally decide to speak up in such a way, well, it was interesting. Interesting; but also infuriating on a different level.

She cleared her throat, gathering her breath once more. Apparently, her little act was not yet finished; it had apparently only just began.

"You have no fear." She stated this as a fact, something she supposedly knew about him beyond a doubt. "Though I fear for you. You think what I saw will not happen. I am afraid that it will. You act as if you have no fear; and you think that I have too much. I think that you do not have enough." She frowned, her voice quieting only for half a moment before it rose again. "Let me fear for you, if you refuse to fear for yourself. Let me fear for your life, if you refuse to fear for it on your own. A kingdom with no king is as doomed as a land deprived of the sun, Thranduil."

_"What are you trying to say to me, woman?"_

Faeariel bit at her lower lip. Her gaze cast downward for a moment, then rose again. "I am saying.. Train me." she asserted this slowly, then continued. "Train me, and see how it goes this time. Let me defy you, if only for now. If I succeed, then you let me go with you unquestioned whensoever, and wheresoever, I choose to do so. You will give me no trouble, and you will provide me with whatever I need, and you will let me fight by your side; with no allowance of it being questioned by anyone else accompanying us."

Seeing the anger rising in Thranduil's eyes, and feeling the air becoming far more intensely pressured, Faeariel ventured to speak again, only to be stopped by him.

_"You make such heavy demands, as if you have some ill-conceived right to do so. And all hinging upon the result of if you do well in how I train you or not."_ He sneered at this, shaking his head at her. _"And if you do not do well? What then?"_ The fierce blue ice of the king's eyes pierced sharply into the depths of the bright, emerald green pools belonging to the smaller female before him.

_"What do you propose then, in the event of your failure? You demand such high things of me, do you believe I will not think to reprimand you for your actions? You ask me, to let you defy me for this one moment. Tell me, Faeariel. What do you say? What is your answer to my question, my lady?"_ Thranduil asked, narrowing his eyes at her as he brought her chin up to make her look at him.

_"_ **_Answer_ ** _me."_

Faeariel frowned, staring back at the male who she tried her hardest not to show any fear to. "If I fail. If I fail to impress you, or if I fail to learn by the time the first sign of dark comes, then you do with me as you choose to. I will return with you without objection, I will do as you say..and.. I will go without so much as another word if you wish.." Faeariel closed her eyes for a moment, before adding "To pay for my apparent insult in defying you..once more.. I will go so far as to show myself to the dungeons if you desire it to be so.." 

A conflict of emotion seemed to wash over his face. It was difficult to hear such things come from her. All he wanted was to deter her; to keep her safe and as far away from harm as possible. And yet her determination was so hard to break, it was like trying to shatter the thickest ice with only but a stick in hand. Thranduil no longer knew how to properly show or act on his emotions, and so therefore could not tell her. All he knew was that he was angry with her. He was angry with a lot of things, most of which were out of his control for many many years. This could be an outlet, if he decided to allow it to be. 

_"Very well..you shall have your way."_ Thranduil sighed lowly, his brows knitting together. His sword rose slowly to meet hers, only to be met then with the sound of shattering, frozen metal. In her war of emotion and desperation, the sword that he had loaned her had become nothing more than a brittle, gleaming mess of cold metal shards, and a frostbitten hilt. Faeariel looked to be greatly embarrassed, and immediately worried. This, of course, broke the Elvenking's look of stone; even if only for a moment. He had to smile lightly at her reaction, it brought him a much needed small bit of amusement. 

"Perhaps though..my lord...I believe I shall be in need of another sword.." 

*******

A few swords and other various weapons later, the 'training' session turned more into being nothing but play.

It began, when Faeariel ended up tripping and falling forward on Thranduil. She had tripped on either a rock, her skirt, or simply her own feet. Thankfully for the both of them, the ground of which they stood on was very soft and had enough give to it, such that neither of them were harmed. Once they both were able to get up and begin again, there were at least three more bumbles between the two, that it was only but a short amount of time, before it was the _king_ who had misstepped and landed on the lady.

"I do believe.. that her training is complete. At least, it seems.. for this day, M'lady..."

The soft spoken voice of one of Galadriel's handmaidens came from alongside her, where she stood above; simply observing the actions of the king and his lady. Her mind was already taken up in contemplating her actions towards Faeariel; The Lady of Light was not so certain that her choice of action was worthy of that which should belong to someone with her given titles. A quiet sigh escaped her, as she looked over towards the younger eleven lady and gave her the softest of smiles.

"Indeed. It does appear to be so.." Galadriel nodded to her, watching her as she watered some of the flowers nearby to where she'd chosen to stand.

"She has done well though, if I may be so bold as to say so; I do not believe I have ever seen anyone speak to a king in such a manner and live.."

A soft chuckle escaped Galadriel, a small bit of amusement glittering in her eyes.

"That, my sweet young elf... would be because no one ever has."

*******

The smile across Faeariel's face could not have been bigger. She had successfully stolen from the Elvenking one of his shoes, and was now headed down the many halls with it, attempting to keep him from retrieving it.

"Faeariel, give me back my boot this instant." Thranduil frowned, rolling his eyes as he looked down the halls for her. In truth, he was at first annoyed. He was not sure how to feel about this sort of thing; he had done well enough with her playful behavior before now when they were supposed to be training, which is why he was even more awkward now. A grown woman had taken off with his shoe, refusing to return it unless he was able to catch her. Such behavior was to be expected of a child, not a lady.

"No, I will not! I will not, until you can catch me!"

Faeariel's giggled response echoed down the hallways as she ran past him again, just barely out of his reach this time. Having been able to keep out of his reach for a good amount of time, Faeariel began to believe that she had bested Thranduil and would not have to return his shoe to him.

Little was it known to her, that she was not very close to being correct. She was, instead, very close to being caught. During the time when she decided to chance looking around a corner, Thranduil had come up behind her and intended to grab her. In the event of doing so, Faeariel ended up startled and confused into fumbling over her own two feet.

By the time that he had helped her up again, she was off once more; his boot in her arms and a grin on her face of pure, playful giddiness.

Her fun all but came to an end when she came to a hall with nothing but rooms and shut doors. It took her half a moment to remember which room might have been hers, or which room might have been given to Thranduil. Or, in the third option, which of the rooms had been given to no one at all. The half moment it took for her to arrive, plus the moment and half she had taken to decide upon what room to attempt hiding in, equaled the thing she currently dreaded most: her pursuer was almost directly on her heels.

In a split second, Faeariel bolted towards the room which seemed the best option. Coincidentally; the room which she chose just so happened to be the room which had been given to Thranduil for his use while they were there.

Once inside, Faeariel saw no other place to sit aside from the bed that would work for her purpose - hiding the shoe behind her - so that is where she chose to sit. As innocent a look as possible was on her face, though in her excitement, it was hard to conceal what mischief she was up to.

Slowly, the door began to creak open. Thranduil peeked inside, raising an eyebrow at the wintry woman seated on his bed. A slow smirk crossed his face as he entered the room, his arms crossing as a knowing look glittered in his icy blue hues.  

"I know you have it," Thranduil stated, watching her to see how she would react. "You might as well return my shoe to me, Faeariel. Maybe I will forgive your silly behavior." 

Scooting the shoe further behind her, Faeariel looked off to the side. "I.. have not the slightest idea _what_ you are talking about.. I have nothing of yours.." Faeariel shook her head, having a bit of trouble with concealing her amusement; she looked as if she may start laughing any minute. 

"Oh? And are you certain of that?" Thranduil questioned, cocking his head to the side and raising a brow at her. It was obvious that he did not believe her, though for reasons unknown to her; the Elvenking seemed to be in a good mood. Good enough to be going along with her play - which could only mean that for now, at least, fortune was smiling down on her. 

"No- I mean.. yes.." Faeariel's eyes averted from his gaze as she chewed lightly on her lower lip, her fingers curling tighter around the shoe which she was hiding behind her back. She had taken the precaution to also place it where it could not be seen from either side if he tried to get to it that way; having hidden it within the dark feathers of her wings as well as behind her. 

"So, you are uncertain then?" Thranduil asked, sitting on the bed near her. The smirk that crossed his face made it hard for her to keep denying it, since she knew he knew she had it anyway. 

"..M-maybe.." Faeariel looked away once again, scooting further away from him, trying to keep the shoe from his sight. An act made in vein, though not without her also having some small amount of determination to keep him from getting to it. "Then again, maybe I am not. Perhaps I threw your shoe somewhere far away.. somewhere where you will never find it again." 

"Is that so?" 

A look of feigned shock crossed Thranduil's usually stoic features. He seemed to be thinking about it for a moment; perhaps contemplating how he really felt about this sort of behavior and messing about. In any normal circumstance, he would have said that such foolish actions were neither fitting for a king, nor for a lady; and should be ceased immediately. 

Not but a few seconds after he had asked his question, Faeariel found herself almost completely pinned back on the bed. A look of true shock crossed with a deep blush settled into her pale face. 

"I am afraid, I do not believe you.." The Elvenking shook his head, some of his long, golden hair tickling her cheek. So dark was the contrast of her hair to his, it was as if the sun had decided to come out at night when they were close enough. 

Despite Faeariel's persistent attempts to keep the boot from Thranduil, it did not take him long to finally retrieve it from her. Due to having employed an even more childish form of interrogation as a means to get her to give it to him, of course: He had decided to tickle her sides. An old, but well-known weakness for most females; it just so happened, however, to be _his_ good fortune that Faeariel was especially susceptible to being tickled there. 

Unfortunately for others, there were not as many happy moments to be made. Rather, there seemed to be more moments of loneliness and longing than ever.  


	16. In the lonely hour

Being placed in charge of an entire kingdom was far out of the line of any duties that Lithoniel was used to performing. It had taken her time to get used to it, though once she had, her mind had began to wonder again in the wee hours when she found she could not sleep.

Ever since she had had the chance meeting with the Hobbit in the dungeons, he had been an ever-present figure in her mind; both in her daydreams, her dreams, and her waking thoughts. At first, Lithoniel would not allow herself to think of him. She would question and mentally scold herself when the thoughts came to mind, then force herself to continue on with whatever she happened to be doing.

Of course, despite having repetitively berated herself over it, she could not help herself: Every once in awhile, she would allow herself to look the button over in her hand. To look at the details, and to feel the smooth surface. It was both a comfort and a pain to her, because the more she allowed herself to dwell on what had now become her most treasured possession, the more miserable she was becoming.

At night, Lithoniel would sit and look at the night sky, secretly wondering what all was happening in the world. She knew that both Legolas and Tauriel had gone, and that her lady and her king were away in Lothlorien. She knew very little about where her small friend and his company had gone from her home, or where they currently were; save for knowing where they hoped to end up, Lithoniel knew not much else and it troubled her.

"Is this what it feels like," Lithoniel caught herself wondering aloud. "...To be in love?" Her brows creased together, contemplation clouding her light green eyes. "To have someone occupy your every waking thought; but to be confused as to why..? To think of the moment you met, only to wish it to happen again though you know it cannot?"

A slow sigh escaped her, as she closed her eyes. Above the golden haired half-elf, stars glittered and danced in the deep tapestry of the night. A single star shot across the sky, right when she chose to open her eyes.

_Unintentionally, Lithoniel then made a wish._

A wish to bring happiness to the small one she had met. Happiness, and a safe return home. For she was certain; though she had neglected to think of it before, she was sure that Bilbo, unlike she, had a family awaiting his return.

It was a bittersweet wish, though she believed her heart to be in the right place. Both then, and when she decided to finally numb her heart and still her mind to any ideas that she might get of having any kind of true happiness for herself, or anything close to living a life where she was anything more than a lowly servant girl and healer; she believed she was simply someone to be called upon when needed, and nothing more than that.

Unknown to Lithoniel, she was also on the mind of a certain young halfling that she was trying to force herself to forget.

*******

If by chance alone and nothing else, Bilbo and a few others of the company were able to convince Thorin to rest before sending Bilbo further into the halls of their mountainous homeland. With having successfully gotten inside, there was no true need to force themselves to continue onward for a good few hours. Thorin was not happy to hear this of course, though this time his opinion was outweighed.

Having no true desire to rush straight into the treasure hoard of a no doubt still living dragon, Bilbo sat with his back to the wall and tried to settle in for a little bit of rest. Difficult as it was, Bilbo soon began to feel himself slowly relaxing. Which was good for his tired body; his mind, however, had not yet seemed to have gotten the memo. It was still very active, and in that case, also very disturbed. 

It had not long before now been along their journey where Fili and Kili had been teasing him about the elf maid he had stopped to free in the dungeons just before their barrel ride escape from her home. Kili was obviously in pain at the time, though still somehow managed to joke around with his brother and their Hobbit friend. The thing that first troubled Bilbo now, was wondering how the brothers and few other dwarves were doing; some had stayed behind in Laketown, to care after Kili when Thorin decided that he could not come any further with them, which Bilbo believed to be far more noble a thing than the comment that Thorin had made just before their departure.

That he would not risk their quest for the sake of one dwarf, even if he was family.

If Bilbo had had half the mind to do so, he would have told the King Under the Mountain off right then and there. Homeland full of riches or no homeland full of riches, Bilbo believed that taking care of family should come first. Of course, thinking about family led the Hobbit directly back to his previous pathway of thought: wondering about Lithoniel. Whether or not she had any sort of family to care after her, if she were a mother or not. Though their encounter had been brief, the half elven maiden had left a great impression on him. Even now, as he drifted off into a restless slumber, he found himself thinking of her.

Such long, soft looking curls. Eyes that glimmered with some small bit of hope despite the despair he was sure she felt. A demeanor about her he had yet to decipher...other than to know that she made him feel safe. Everything about her captivated his mind; much in the way another elven woman had captured the mind and heart of his ailing friend, whom he worried so greatly for.

Amidst his dreams, Bilbo found himself mentally wandering back towards Laketown. Back the way that they had came, and back to the home of the Bowman they had stayed with a short while ago. Though he did not know it for certain, Bilbo felt certain that the man who had helped them before would likely be helping them again.

This, he hoped for beyond hope as he drifted further into sleep; his dreams redirecting him once more to the angel from the dungeons with golden hair...not so very unlike the dreamlike state Kili found himself in, thinking he was dreaming of an angel who walked in starlight, with hair not golden; but red as the fire moon he once saw long ago.

She stood above him, a plant in hand. One he had seen many times before, which was known in the common tongue as Kingsfoil. Most mistakenly thought it to be a simple weed which made good food for the pigs; thankfully, Tauriel knew the difference between a pointless plant and something that could save a life.

The light that shown around Tauriel brought Kili great comfort, easing him into a state between sleep and wakefulness. He was unaware whether or not she was really there, and so when he asked "Do you think she could have loved me?"

It gave Tauriel great pause.

The idea of a love between an elf and a dwarf was not something that her king would likely condone; she was almost certain he would not condone any love she found, seeing as he had all but ordered her to break his son's heart to keep him from loving someone of a status too lowly for a prince to be joined to.

And yet, her heart froze. In that one moment, her heart thudded in her head and tightened in her chest; she wanted very badly to say "yes," though could not find the words to say anything of the sort. Instead, she made herself turn away. Her time with him had been brief, and yet something about the young dwarvish prince captivated her. Perhaps it was his overall nature, what she had learned of him by speaking with him in the dungeons, or simply the small connection she had felt that they had made. By the way he looked at her, Tauriel already knew that Kili was taken with her. Not that she was able to fully comprehend why anyone would be, as most of her long life had consisted of constant reminders of why they would never be.

At last, all Tauriel could get out was a small whisper. A quiet sentence, a kiss placed softly on his forehead; then her intention to turn and leave.

"You should rest.."

*******  
Elsewhere in the world, there were those who had no time for loneliness. The grey wizard, by few known as Gandalf; for one. He had been sent out to investigate a threat that concerned the lady Galadriel; activity that had started up again in Dol Guldur. There had not been any happenings in that foul place for many a century, this was a thing Gandalf knew well; he had been there whence the last time something came forth from the depths of its horrible pits.

This was why he was so greatly concerned himself.

He knew, beyond the shadow of a doubt; that if the age old darkness, which they had neglected for far too long, was returning to claim its army that there would be far more for them to worry about than a dragon who had been sitting on a dwarvish treasure hoard for the last sixty years. Especially, if the dragon were to be persuaded to join the side of their enemy.

If that were to happen, if Smaug were to choose to side with the growing darkness; there would be naught but fire and death for all and any born in the years to come. So long as the Fire Drake lived - _no one in Middle Earth would ever be safe again._


	17. Faeariel's Fears

"Bilbo, wake up." 

Hushed words, close to his ear so as not to echo off the old mountain's walls, were what brought the young Hobbit back from his dreaming state, to the reality which he was still not ready to face. 

"It's time for you to go, Bilbo." 

The words which he really didn't want to hear. What he really wanted to hear, was that they were going home. Well, that _he_ was. In all manner of speaking, most of his dwarvish companions were already home.  

Bilbo took a deep breath, and rose from his place. He absently ran his hand along the pendant of the necklace that Lithoniel had given him, and began off on his way down to the treasure room again to face the dragon. He was sure he could feel his heart about to burst out of his chest as he made his way down the stairs to the room full of gold. It felt like with every step he took, more of his life was flashing before his eyes. From the time when he was a child, running around through the Shire in search of adventures and elves, to the time when he met an angel locked away in an elvish dungeon; and even to where he was now, surely about to be incinerated for his Company's cause.  Everything now became an uncertainty, and a dream. If he were to make it out of this whole thing alive, he could return home a hero of a kind; he could seek out the green eyed elven woman he had set free before escaping Mirkwood with his friends, if she would have him.

As oddly as his fate had been turning on him recently; it was no longer such a surprise to him that he had come to believe that he may be in love with a woman whom he had met only once, by chance, even.

Bilbo tried to keep images of happier times in his mind as he delved deeper into the mountain's halls. Images of his family, the ones who weren't after all of his things, that is; images of the view he had had of the world at the top of the tree he had climbed in the Mirkwood forest, and yes - even images of the very brief encounter he had had with Lithoniel. 

It was hard to keep such things in mind, as much fear as he was trying to stay off. As well as dragons could smell, it was more than likely that his own fate would be sealed by his fear. If Smaug could smell the fear on him, then he would be more than done for. 

An ironic death, he thought, because for most of their journey he had been trying to fend off nightmares based off the description of "incineration by dragon fire" that he was given when still looking over the contract that he had signed in order to become what he was now: a burglar

 Despite being the one in the more perilous situation, Bilbo was not the only one to be contemplating his fate at this hour in the day. 

*******

 Elsewhere; in the realm ruled by the Lady of Light, there were those who were again thinking over their fates. 

Ever since her training had began, all Faeariel wanted to do was get better at it. At any and all hours of the day, she would work harder. With varying levels of food and sleep in her system, her persistence did not go unnoticed.  Most times, even when she believed herself to be alone, Faeariel had an observer. Someone who was quickly coming to the conclusion that she may need to apologize to her. 

Aside from the work she had been doing with a sword, Faeariel had been testing herself with other things; in a way, she was daring herself to push her limits. By the current hour she had already been working with throwing daggers, a bow and arrow, a second sword, and even learning how to make due with ordinary objects in nature as weapons. 

The one thing that she still had trouble with, was hand-to-hand fighting. Faeariel found herself too afraid to hurt anyone whom she practiced with. This was something that was holding her back, albeit; not the only thing. 

Her fear of hurting anyone with her bare hands was not the only thing holding her back: Faeariel still held a huge fear of her own sub-zero abilities. With the fact that she had already broken three swords and two bows because they had frozen over from her nerves acting up while she was training with them, the idea that she could ever use her powers to help herself in battle was not something that she was even _semi_ -close to entertaining. Despite the fact that there were others, who thought her power was a great asset that could be used to a wonderful affect; a "war winner" as he'd phrased it. 

"I cannot do what you are suggesting," Faeariel shook her head, a frown creasing her dry lips. "To use my powers in battle is not something that I can ever allow myself to do. You _know_ why, you _know_ what I saw in the mirror--because I told you what I saw. Thranduil, my abilities are just too dangerous to ever be used.. They are the very reason I started training to begin with..I cannot control them." 

Faeariel's voice cracked as she spoke, the sound of her single sword's blade hitting off the two that the Elvenking still held. 

Her brows creased, and her frown deepened. A few seconds later, there was only the sound of shattering metal again. _Her fourth sword had broken._

"See!" Faeariel turned away in exasperation, her head down as she held her hands close to herself. _'Am I to be stuck this way? '_  she cringed, her expression darkening. Her total destruction of what she loved was the reason why she was trying to keep herself under control and trying to be more "normal," like everyone else. Her idea had been that if she could just convince herself that she was normal, that eventually her powers would just go away and she would be, then she would no longer be a danger to anyone. 

In light of the fact that she had yet again obliterated a sword without even meaning to, her hopes were as shattered as the bits of frosted metal that once had been her sword. _'If this continues, will I hurt someone? Will I end up killing someone..? Will I end up...'_

Her thoughts were interrupted when she felt a hand on her shoulder. Out of fearful instinct, she shirked away. "No, do not touch me!" 

A bit of icy blue was slipping into her terrified green eyes; her skin looked like snowflakes were appearing on it. She was scared, even the frustrated elvish king could see this. 

"I am too dangerous..I will end up hurting you.. You cannot touch me.. not now..or ever again.." her voice cracked as she shirked away again, and cast her gaze down toward the ground. Even her wings were tensed up, she was so worried. Her voice had cracked not only from her emotions, she was dehydrated. Not that she cared. 

"Faeariel.." 

Thranduil sighed lowly, his own dark brows now creasing together. Taking hold of both of her shoulders, he turned her to face him. A look of shock and even anger crossed her face as she tried to pull away. 

"Stop! Don't you see why I'm telling you no?" Faeariel shook her head, angry tears threatening her eyes. "You saw what I did to that sword, Thranduil. And that was metal. You aren't. What do you think I could do to you? I..I  could kill you.. Please, let go of me!" Her voice caught, before she added "Perhaps..p-perhaps..I should leave..." 

"Do you want to?" his eyes narrowed, boring into hers. 

"What..?" Faeariel asked, shaking her head as some of her tears froze on her flushed cheeks. 

"You heard me," he repeated "Is it your intention, to kill me?" 

There was a seriousness in his tone that only upset her more. "No! No, I don't want to..That is what I have been trying to tell you.. Don't you believe m--?" 

Faeariel's angered protest was cut off by the sudden capturing of her lips. An unexpected kiss, which she did not understand the full purpose of - she knew only that it was likely meant to silence her words. Her anger faded away to confusion and fear, a mixed expression on her face which could not have been clearer when he pulled away from her. Certainly, she had been expecting that he might turn into an ice king, instead of an elf king. 

"What was that for..?" Her relief that he did not flooded over her features immediately; though she questioned him softly, still cautiously hesitating for a moment. 

"Am I dead?" he answered her question with his own, looking into her eyes as he pressed his forehead against hers. 

"H-huh?" she blinked, frowning for a moment. "No.." It took her time to realize what the kiss was meant for. He was trying to tell her something. Something more than simply "shut up." 

"Then for what do you worry?" he questioned, a smirk crossing his lips. "You are no more dangerous to me than the snowflake that you showed me not long ago.. It is everyone else, not I, who shall have to worry about you harming them." There was a gleam in his eyes that said he was not only right, but that he was right and he knew it. "You, my dear lady, worry for nothing."  

Faeariel looked uncertain, her eyes averting his gaze as she chewed on her lower lip. She wanted to protest again, though was slowly beginning to calm down at the realization that he was likely correct. Those who she loved were not the ones who had to worry. The ones who chose to threaten her loved ones, were the ones who she would be destroying in a storm of wintry fury. _They were the ones who had the **true** need to worry. _

At last, she took in a breath and slowly exhaled. A soft smile crossed her lips. 

 

"Alright..I believe you... I will stay.." 


	18. "If you won't go.."

After making her decision to stay, work in secret began on making a weapon for Faeariel to use without the fear of it breaking when she became too upset or too anxious. Each day that they spent training her, she seemed to have one problem or another. She was far too stubborn about it now though, to allow anyone to tell her to stop. 

Her dreams, however; were not something she had nearly so much control over.

Her dreams had turned to fire, ash, and death. A stark contrast to what her dreams had been of before: a frozen wasteland made from her newfound homeland by her own doing. Now, she dreamt of the ruin of a place she had never seen before; mass destruction and chaos caused by a creature so horrible she could not at first put a name to it. She had yet to see it - though she knew it was coming, and soon. 

It wasn't until the third night of her dream, that Faeariel woke up in the middle of the night startled and with a heavy pain in her stomach. She had put off telling anyone because she was uncertain whether or not it was only a dream, or if it was something that were truly going to come to pass. 

With a cold sweat starting at her forehead, Faeariel wrapped herself in a light blanket and headed out into the halls. Her feet were light and made no sound; it was her cold presence that alerted Thranduil to open his door before she could think to knock on it. He knew this chill well; it, and the look in her eyes. She was worried.   

He had yet to tell her anything of the dragon, though he figured now he would have to. The look on her face said it all - her worry; her fear. This was a fear well endowed; though for once, not a fear she had of herself. 

A slow sigh escaped the Elvenking's lips as he stood to the side to allow the trembling lady into his room. 

This explanation was going to take long. Calming her down...that was something that would likely take _longer_. 

*******

"...So you mean to tell me, that my dreams were _not_ just dreams..?" Faeariel looked at Thranduil, a frown crossing her face as it all clicked together in her head. There was a long pause, before she spoke again. "Surely you do not expect the people in that town to stand on their own against a dragon! What defense does such a small town have against such a monster? We must go to their aid before it is too late, we have to.." she trailed off, his cold look silencing her. 

_**"We must what?"**_ he asked, arching a brow. It was almost as if he had reverted backwards completely on her, Thranduil was challenging Faeariel to defy him and speak again; he, in a way, was defying her to try and insist again that he 'must' do anything. 

"Do you expect me to march our people, _**my** people_, into the angry fire of a dragon? The elves of Mirkwood have no quarrel with that dragon, **why** should I endanger my people to try to fend off a threat that those mortals brought upon themselves? The people of Laketown chose to help the dwarves, and in doing so incurred the wrath of Smaug. Their troubles _are their own,_ Faeariel. That is all I have to say on the matter." 

There was a cold tone in his voice as he spoke of the dwarves, something that Faeariel noted yet did not much care for in the moment. In all actuality, she was very upset with him. 

"You should be ashamed of yourself." Faeariel held a flat expression, her eyes narrowed at him as she spoke lowly. "You are a _**king!**_ And yet, you cannot bring yourself to do even the most simple of things which a king should do. In your refusal to help them, you may as well be the dragon yourself; bringing the fire of death down on them." Faeariel shirked away from him when he went to grab her wrist. This action seemed to only further anger her as she stood up off of his bed. "What use is training me in the ways of battle, if you yourself run from it?" Before he could get a word in edgewise, she added: 

"You are a coward, Thranduil. If you will not fight to defend the weak, then who will?" 

The door slammed behind her as she went down the hallway, her fists clenched. She was more than simply angry with him, she was disappointed. She had come to trust him, and his answer to her worry for the people of Laketown had only driven her back to how she had felt before; untrusting and unsure of him. 

With each angry step she took, thoughts began to fill her head. These thoughts were completely defiant and unusual for her; perhaps the fact that she had finally had it with not being listened to, was what had changed her mindset. Her mind was not truly made up until she got word that the destruction of Laketown had already happened. They were too late. 

At first, she felt despair. Her warnings had not been heeded; they had also not been given soon enough. That, she blamed herself for. Refusal to listen to her counsel and refusal to help, she blamed her bullheaded king for. 

These thoughts came in before she came to a realization; that they may be too late to stop the event, but they weren't too late to help care for the people in the aftermath of it all.  With her mind made up, Faeariel sent out towards the stables. Being as she figured that he wouldn't be in need of his horse, Faeariel decided to take the king's horse. Surely she would get her where she wished to go quickly enough - it's not like there was a dragon to worry about now, so Faeariel figured that she would not be in any danger anyway. 

Her way of thinking, however, was not shared by Thranduil. When he finally came to find her and all he found instead was a note, his thoughts were not of helping anyone, but of trying to find a way to beat the infuriating woman senseless with her own raven colored wings. 


End file.
